


The After Life

by Th3Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Explicit Language, F/M, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Harmione, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Ron Weasley Bashing, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 171,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: In the aftermath of the Second War, Harry dreams of his future with Ginny - and utterly rejects it. Haunted with trauma, convinced he is broken, Harry leaves his life behind. But distance only awakens his heart's true desire - and the one girl he never allowed himself to love. All roads lead back to Hogwarts, where - destiny fulfilled - Harry can finally begin his 'after' life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 95
Kudos: 460





	1. A Dream of 19 Years

Harry Potter watched the Hogwarts Express disappear from Platform 9 and 3/4 with a resounding toot of its horn. He waved one last time at his two eldest children vanishing along with it. It was Albus' first day at Hogwarts and Harry hoped he would be alright. He'd seemed so scared. Ginny took Harry's arm in a would-be-consoling way. He barely noticed it, and when he did, he shrugged her off.

Then there was a sudden, high-pitched, angry cry, a flash of green and the train exploded in front of them.

* * *

Harry had barely time to scream before he was shocked awake, panting for air as if just breaking the surface of water. His scar throbbed painfully and his pyjama shirt was soaked in sweat, boiling in his veins but breaking like ice on his skin. He jerked upright and reached for his glasses, tentatively thought about his wand too. But the panic was subsiding, the fear ebbing away as the pain in his scar eased. It was just a dream. Voldemort was dead. Harry had to remember that.

 _Voldemort was dead_.

Harry ran the words over in his mind, as he'd done a thousand times in the past month, since it happened. Since he'd murdered Voldemort. For the second time. It didn't seem real. Somehow, some part of the phrase just didn't feel like truth to Harry. This evil, this threat, this 7-year burden, gone. Just like that. Harry was struggling to wrap his mind around the concept.

All the months meandering around Britain in that fucking tent. Cold, hungry, hopeless. All the deaths, from poor Hedwig to misunderstood Snape. The fight with Ron, Hermione tortured by Bellatrix, walking to his semi-death and his bizarre meeting with Dumbledore on the edge of the afterlife. It was a year more scarring than any other of Harry's fleeting life. It seemed liked a different world.

But now there was this dream. What the hell was it supposed to be?

It had seemed so _real_. Stood at Kings Cross with Ginny and their kids. With Ron and Hermione and their brood next to them. He even remembered the names. Had he really called his son Albus Severus? Was he setting the kid up to be a cunt? He shook the idea away. It wasn't real, it wasn't the future.

But it had certainly felt like it.

Harry rose and looked in the mirror. The circular boys dorm at the top of Gryffindor Tower was empty. Term end had been postponed after the Battle of Hogwarts and the repairs were still ongoing, meaning the castle had few inhabitants at the moment. Harry, as was his lot, simply had nowhere to go. He could have gone to the Burrow, but he found that he didn't want company and Molly Weasley's constant fussing would have pissed him off after a day or so.

So he remained at Hogwarts, largely alone. He was fine with the situation, preferring his own company to that of other people. His thoughts were a convoluted jumble, a veritable trainwreck and what he needed was time and space to order his mind. This he would not get at the Burrow.

His reflection in the dorm room mirror was pale and startled. Hardly surprising, as he was very pale, and this was startling. He stroked a finger the length of his scar. It still prickled but Harry suspected this may have been an involuntary reflex to touch on the scar tissue rather than any actual pain. After a few moments he actually wondered if the burning pain, that he could have sworn he felt, was simply part of his dreamscape, rather than anything real and not worthy of concern.

But the dream had been so vivid. And why would it have affected his scar? Only Voldemort ever did anything to the old wound.

Maybe it was another hangover. Maybe seeing Voldemort's mind had awakened a latent Seer talent in Harry. It would explain the visceral nature of the dream. But it would raise some other, more awkward questions.

Like why he had _hated_ what he saw with such vitriolic force. Not only that, why he'd hated the look on his older self's face. How he _knew_ , as if by innate instinct, that his future incarnation, if that's what he had been at all, was so deeply unhappy with life. For what was there not to like? He had everything he'd ever wanted - a wife, a family. His dream life, literally, made flesh. But he wasn't happy, it hadn't been the fairy-tale ending.

Harry knew this truth as completely as he did his left from his right.

So, what was wrong with it? Harry was wracked trying to work it out. But no answers were forthcoming, and with no way of delving into the dream further he would have to take it at face value. Luckily, the details were not diminishing as they would from a regular dream. Harry started at this thought, as though it were further validation that he'd seen his future, or at least a possible one.

One thing was for certain - it wasn't a future Harry wanted at all. He didn't want to look like that, for his eyes to grow so cold and lifeless, to become that man he'd seen waving off his kids. What could have happened to make him like that?

* * *

The place was called Wetherspoons, but the actual name was _The Moon Under Water._ Hermione liked that. She'd always harboured a soft spot for Orwell and his ideal public house had a very emotive name. To be _in one_ was quite something.

But she was nervous.

Of course she was. There was just so much that could go wrong with this evening, and so much that was riding on it. She shuddered at the thoughts racing through her mind. She sipped her drink for comfort. Pink gin and lemonade. All the rage in London. Fruity, hints of strawberries. Very nice, all things considered.

Her parents had been surprised with her order, expecting her usual mineral water. But tonight wasn't a night for water, unless it had alcohol in it. Dutch courage was the order of the day. Apt, too, as the impending influx of orange would be quite in keeping with the theme.

That theme being Ron and the other Weasleys meeting her parents for the first time since they'd become a couple.

Rescuing her parents from their unexpected sabbatical in Australia and restoring their memories had been stressful enough. Telling them she had a steady boyfriend was another thing altogether. But their reactions ... it stuck with Hermione even now.

"So we will finally get to meet this Harry Potter then!" her mother had cried, somewhat triumphantly when Hermione broke the news to them. "I've been so looking forward to it."

"As long as fame hasn't gotten to his head," her father had added. "Only a grounded boy will do for our Hermione."

_Wait a minute ... What...?_

Her parents seemed to have expected her to announce she was going out with _Harry._ Hermione was shocked by the revelation and it stirred some unusual things in her chest. She swatted them back. It was just embarrassment. After all, she'd never told her parents she had a boyfriend before. Or even introduced them to a friend, for that matter. For them to think it was Harry ... well, that was just ... it was ... what was it? She couldn't put a title on it, but she would deal with that later. After she corrected them.

"Oh ... it's _Ron_ you're seeing," said her mother. It wasn't lost on Hermione how her mother's face dropped. Even her father looked wary. They cast an unusual look at each other that Hermione couldn't read at all. A casual onlooker may have used the term _concerned. "_ Well ... congratulations, sweetheart. We will have to meet your boyfriends' family properly. Have a good night out together somewhere."

So here they were, in Leicester Square, in a crowded pub, for just that purpose. And Hermione was more on edge that she could put into words.

She had been sat in worried anticipation long enough when, finally, the Weasley clan arrived. They were noisy and boisterous and looked like the worst kind of awestruck tourists. It was one of the reasons Hermione had chosen a central London location for this most auspicious of meetings. If the Weasleys made a show of themselves, for being surrounded by so many Muggles, at least it could be passed off as them being over-exuberant visitors to the Capital. Hermione had seen it many times before and the good folk of London had developed a strong tolerance for such indecent enthusiasm.

But even this excuse didn't seem to encompass their reaction to being where they were. They talked loudly about the quaintness and _backwardness_ of everything as if they had not a care in the world. Although she knew nobody but her parents in the vicinity, Hermione couldn't help but feel mortified by the comments. The other drinkers looked oddly at the newcomers and Hermione felt her head bow involuntarily as the red-headed invasion reached the table she was sharing with her parents.

"Hermione! How lovely to see you! Come here and give me a hug!"

Molly Weasley's voice would have carried the entire length of the London Underground. Hermione felt a fleeting half-wish that she could tap out with her Oyster Card. But instead she stood sheepishly and accepted the bear-hug from Ron's mother. Heads turned their way and Hermione wished the others would at least sit down.

But they didn't. They insisted on hugging her one after the other, as though she were already a part of the clan. The patrons of the pub craned their necks, expecting at the very least for a star of the West End to be within their midst. The scoffs that accompanied their disappointment when they saw Hermione, who was no-one's idea of a celebrity, brought a strange thought to her mind.

_Poor Harry. This must have been what it was like for him. All the time. No wonder he hated it so._

The thought of Harry struck an odd cord with her. She looked around for him, sure that he would have come with the Weasleys for this night on the town.

But he wasn't with them. She felt a strange, cool shiver at noticing his absence.

Her chain of thought was broken by Ron, who had sidled up to her and slid his arm into hers. She smiled at him.

"Er ... shall we get the, erm, introductions out the way?" he whispered to her.

"Yeah ... that's a good idea," said Hermione. She guided Ron to her parents. "Mum, Dad ... you remember Ron? He's my boyfriend now. Ron - my parents, David and Catrin Granger."

"Nice to meet you ... er, properly," said Ron. He shook Hermione's father's hand and gave her mother a very awkward kiss on the cheek. "Catrin ... that's an unusual name."

"It's Welsh," said Hermione's mother. "I'm from Cardiff originally. David and I met at medical school. It wasn't quite as unique a school as _yours_ I imagine."

"No, I doubt it could have been," said Ron, laughing. "Dentistry can't be nearly as fun and interesting as magic, can it?"

Ron's comment was off-handed. He meant nothing by it. But Hermione wished the floor could have opened up and swallowed her. Arthur Weasley saved her blushes.

"Hello!" he said jovially, greeting the Grangers warmly. "How great to see you both again. I'm sure our kids have plenty of explaining to do, eh?! But how about we do it over a drink? I'm afraid I don't know much about Muggle beers, but I'm keen to learn if you'll lead the way, David. Come on, Ron, give us a hand with these drinks. You've got all night to swoon over Hermione!"

"Yes, Dad," said Ron, grinning madly. He gave Hermione an awkward peck on the cheek, before following Arthur and David to the bar.

Hermione felt redder than Miss Scarlet. She decided there and then that she _hated_ the spotlight. Of _anything_. This was going to be such an uncomfortable night. She looked forward to it being over. The Weasleys wanted to fuss around their youngest boy's new girlfriend, and Hermione was deeply against being fawned over. She wanted to just be with Ron, away from all this. But Molly wanted to preen her, George tried to make flirty talk with her (but it seemed half-hearted without Fred, which broke Hermione's own heart to see) and Bill and Fleur, who had hung back initially, seemed to be prepping her to follow in their footsteps. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Her mother sensed her discomfort. Hermione could tell that and was thankful for it. But the pained expression on her face did little to ease Hermione's tension. Her mother didn't like seeing her stressed and uncomfortable, that was natural, but she didn't seem entirely at ease herself. This only added to Hermione's worry. When she and Ron had gotten together it had been the obvious culmination of a long road for Hermione. To see her parents less that accepting of it was more than a little jarring.

And it was obvious that that was her mother's reaction. Even now, after just a brief beginning to the evening, Hermione could read her mother's mind. Though she was too nice and decent a woman to voice the thought aloud, it screamed to Hermione, clear as day.

_My daughter can do better than this._

Hermione was spared the chance to analyse this further when Ginny suddenly pressed in close to her. Her expression was loaded and emotional. She had been waiting for a chance to speak with Hermione and the topic must have been important, if the strained, blazing look on her face was anything to go by. When she spoke, it was a quiet whisper that only Hermione could hear.

"Have you seen Harry lately?"

If the question was odd, then Ginny's tone was downright disturbing. It would suggest that _she_ hadn't seen Harry recently, which was totally absurd in Hermione's head. He was with them at the Burrow after all.

"No," Hermione replied. "I went off to get my parents back from Australia and we had to restore their memories. And then I had to explain everything to them. That took a while. I haven't had a chance to come over and see Harry yet. Is there a problem? He's okay, isn't he? I thought he might have come tonight, actually..."

Hermione's words trailed off as an odd train of thought crossed her mind. She'd really like to see Harry right about now. She looked to the door of the pub, as though he might simply walk right in, as if she'd _Accio'd_ him there. But he didn't. Hermione felt a fierce sense of disappointment that he'd dared let her down in this. She would definitely give him a telling off for it when she saw him next.

"He's okay ... I think," said Ginny. "I haven't seen him for a while, so I can't say for sure."

"Haven't seen him?" Hermione laughed. "Hiding out with the ghoul, is he? Typical Harry, moping about in your attic while the world and his dog wants an autograph!"

"Harry isn't staying with us," said Ginny, confused.

Hermione felt her heart miss a step. "Then where is he?"

Ginny shot Hermione an odd look, as though sensing something in her tone. "We think he's still at Hogwarts. We asked him to come home with us after the Battle, but he refused."

"Then you don't know where he is!?" Hermione's incredulous tone drew stares from nearby tables, but she didn't care. How could they not know where Harry was or, more importantly, know _how_ he was? She'd gone off after her parents safe in the knowledge that Molly, Ron and the other Weasley's would take care of Harry and all the multitude of things he would need in the aftermath of defeating Voldemort. To hear that they _hadn't_ , that they'd left him to his own devices, seemed the most deplorable lapse, the severest dereliction of duty Hermione could ever imagine.

But her mother noticed the tone. There was nothing else in the world that affected her little girl like this. Nothing else quite sparked in her in this way. Nothing stirred this unbridled passion, this protective instinct, this utter devotion that Harry Potter did.

It had been the same way since Hermione had started at Hogwarts. This Harry character set something off in Hermione that Catrin Granger loved to see, and she would have loved to meet the boy responsible for it. But all she could do was sigh at the ultimate display of her daughter's outright stubbornness, her emotional blindness. Or was it avoidance?

"We are pretty sure he's at Hogwarts," Ginny went on. "But none of us have seen him for at least a fortnight. I was just wondering if you had."

Ginny's tone betrayed something else, something that Hermione found riled her. It was typical Ginny and had little to do with Harry and his well being. But Hermione, being Hermione, wanted to help out.

"Ginny - what aren't you telling me?"

Ginny looked ashamed, a little guilty. But her voice was resolute when she spoke. "Nothing really...its just that...I thought, after Voldemort was defeated that Harry might want ... that he and I ... that we would ..."

"Get back together?" Hermione offered.

Ginny nodded meekly. "I know its selfish, but I just assumed that's what would happen. But when I spoke to Harry he didn't seem to want to know me. He was really distant. I don't know what I did, but I hoped things could go back to how they were before ... well, everything."

At that point Hermione wanted to slap Ginny Weasley as hard as she could. After the year they had just been through how could she expect things to simply return to normal. Hermione choked back a scoff at the idea. _Normal._ What even was that? And how could a girl like Ginny even begin to know, begin to fathom what Harry had been though and suffered? Who was she to think she had any right to Harry and his counsel, his recovery? That was _Hermione's_ domain.

 _Wow_.

Hermione sat back in her chair, scarcely able to believe she'd even had that thought. Since when had she claimed dominion over Harry's well-being? It was a sobering idea, but one she couldn't shake, as outlandish as it was. She felt oddly devoted to where he was, obsessed now with knowing if he was okay. More than that, if he was okay _without her_. It was a bizarre revelation that she hoped he _wasn't_ , but that she was able to make it better if given the chance.

_What the hell am I thinking these things for?_

Hermione firmly suppressed these ideas. After all, Ginny was waiting expectedly for an answer. When Hermione formed it, there was a callousness there that she had never before felt a need to express. But Hermione couldn't help it.

"What we went though ... it was tough. It changed us. Harry wouldn't say as much, you know what he's like. Never very skilled when it comes to words."

Ginny nodded as a sad smile crossed her eyes.

"If he wanted to say anything, he'd do so in his actions," Hermione went on. "So if he didn't talk to you..."

"He doesn't want to be with me," Ginny finished sadly. It seemed the confirmation of a thought she'd long been trying to deny. "Its just that I've _always_ liked Harry. I gave up on him for a bit, then we got together ... I thought I'd finally gotten him for good."

Hermione felt her heart kick her in the throat. That phrase had irked her greatly. But she wasn't sure why.

"I can't say for sure," said Hermione, hiding a bitter undertone. "But if I know Harry, and I think I know him pretty well, that's his way of saying how he really feels. I'm sorry, Ginny."

Ginny didn't look on the verge of tears, but there was a look of steely resignation in her eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. I knew you'd understand and help me. At least I haven't got to waste any more time on Harry, eh?"

Hermione gasped. She couldn't help it. _Waste time on Harry_? What kind of Blast-Ended Skrewt bullshit was Ginny spouting now? No time spent on Harry was wasted.

_Hermione! Pull yourself together, girl! Stop these thoughts!_

So she did. Ron and the fathers of both families were returning from the bar. Hermione hitched her best grin onto her face and tried to seem involved in the night, but her mind was now anywhere but the inside of this Orwellian nightmare.


	2. The Fallen Leavers

The morning was quiet, unnaturally still. Hogwarts was never like this. There was always some sort of sound. The chattering of students and portraits, the clinking of pots and pans, the grating of the ancient staircases as they moved of their own accord. There was always _something_. But not today. If a mouse farted in the dungeons, it would have echoed to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

It was as though the great, shattered castle stood in reverence of the absent dead.

Harry walked though the grounds, his mind blank and dazed. His feet were moving but he hardly knew where he was going. He'd thought about the owlery. At least there was some hint of life there. Life which wouldn't intrude on him too much. But there was painful death there, too. Poor Hedwig. She had called the place home, as much as Harry had done his dorm room. Now they belonged nowhere.

And part of Harry wished he, too, was sleeping soundly under the earth, as his once-beloved owl now surely was.

Without realising, Harry found himself approaching Hagrid's cabin. His step faltered. There was the threat of company there. Harry wouldn't be able to avoid it if Hagrid spotted him. The crushing silence was here too. No booming barks, no crashes from inside the hut. Harry's eyes were drawn, magnetically, to the little mound of earth off to one side of the cabin. Grass was starting to grow over it already, life blooming where death's inevitability had been observed.

There was, of course, nothing little about Fang's grave. The boarhound had been anything but little. But soon the flora would cover the disturbed earth and only the ring of memorial stones Hagrid had laid there would be any reminder that this wasn't just another overgrown, anonymous patch of land.

Harry's heart lodged in his throat at the sight.

In fact, it had become a frequent resident there, choking him, quickening his breath in the worst sorts of ways. Not from nerves like at Quidditch, not from excitement at intimacy with girls, just the grim realisation of the darkness that had permeated his life. It was as if Voldemort's presence had served as a sort of shroud, hiding his misdeeds as Harry expected worse to come. Deaths of his friends, death of himself. Now that he was gone, all the horrors of the Dark Lord's actions were coming home to him.

And the brutal murder of beloved pets was only an entryway into this catalogue of heinous deeds.

Harry's decision was made. He unclenched the fist that was a moment away from knocking on Hagrid's door and veered away from the gamekeeper's cabin. It wasn't a morning for chit-chat. The Great Lake loomed large, deserted and ideal, off to the left. Harry struck out for it, following the sloping lawns down to the water's edge. The surface of the lake was like fresh-cut glass; smooth, flat, totally unbroken. And still that silence. Harry felt deaf enveloped by it. It pressed on him, sound taken from his world and thrown somewhere else. Somewhere it could be enjoyed, somewhere it wouldn't be taken for granted, for Harry felt a selfish guilt that that's all he'd ever done with it.

The morning sunlight fell on the surface of the Lake, gilding the unmoving water. Harry looked at it, marvelled at its prettiness, cautiously welcoming the warmth which accompanied it. It would be Summer soon. There would be light, and life, and Harry wondered vaguely if he would be in any state to enjoy it. If his anguishing mind might by then have started to settle on this new idea of the world. A world with a future.

He couldn't rightly conceptualise that.

For what was life without Voldemort? Without his ever-pervading threat? How was Harry supposed to go about picking up the pieces of a broken life? Did he even know how to live, without the shadow of Voldemort stalking just behind him? Harry wasn't sure he did. People would just go back to normal. Life would return to the way it was, free from the prowling presence that had plagued the Wizarding World. They would all celebrate the Dark Lord's demise, cherish the victory, revel in the freedom Harry had given them.

Again.

But Harry wouldn't be part of it, wouldn't have anything to do with it. He couldn't. There was no way he was ready to face that reality. There was a celebration planned at Hogwart's for the very next week. A victory parade to toast Harry murdering a man. He baulked at the concept. They'd want to hug him, kiss him, hoist him to a plateau where they could vaunt him and exalt him. Harry couldn't think of anything worse. And then they'd drift away, drink to the victory, return to normal. All great pretenders to Harry's suffering.

And he could tell nobody about it.

Heroes didn't feel anguish, after all. The world would never accept it. Their perfect vision, their peaceful future, would be shattered by the notion that any pain could still exist. They would want their perfect normality to return to their lives, as if Voldemort had simply been a passing storm, his damage superficial and easily repaired. Normal would return as a sparkling dawn.

Ginny Weasley had made that perfectly clear. Approaching Harry soon after Voldemort fell, the stilling blood yet warm in his dying veins. Harry still had Snape's blood crusting on his clothes. His skin still dirty from where he'd been face down in the mud, feigning death to Voldemort. Ginny had tried to hug him, to kiss him, to _celebrate_ , as though he'd just been triumphant in catching the Snitch to win the House Cup. Like it was a petty, trivial act.

And in that moment, Harry felt all his once-treasured affection for her leave his body.

She had no idea, not even the faintest inkling about what he'd been through, what he'd done. Not just on that night, but for his entire life. Who was she to him, really? His best mate's sister, a fleeting rush of lust and hormones for a pretty girl. Harry had to get that out of his system, he knew that now. He felt he'd earned it a little. A trophy moment, a bit of mindless fun with a willing partner. But she was nowhere near enough. He needed more, was desperate for it.

But he knew he would never get it. There was no-one who would understand. Who could? And who would be foolish enough to take on such a broken man? One who knew love, had much to give, but felt certain now that he didn't know _how_ to love. Not in that way. He knew he could never give himself up completely to a stranger, any newcomer to his plagued life. This part of him would always be there, chinking away in the back of his heart, dark and ever-present.

No girl deserved that.

So he wouldn't inflict that on anyone. In that moment, looking out across the Lake, Harry made that decision. He thought back to his dream, his vision, whatever it had been. That was no future. Certainly not with vacuous Ginny. Ginny fucking Weasley. Harry felt a corrosive resentment towards her for a moment, for her impudence in suggesting that she was his gateway to normal. She didn't have a pissing clue as to what normal was in his world. A world he was now determindely resolved she would have no serious part in, or any future he was to live. Kids? With Ginny? Married to her? He understood at once why his future self had seemed so unhappy, so desperately _alone_ , in his dream.

He would have kept this all bottled up for all those years. Pushed it deep down, away from the sham he'd have to display on the surface. He'd have kept his own counsel while Ginny basked in the glow of the spotlight. She would have loved it.

Harry could see it now; Ginny happily paraded on Harry's arm, accepting every interview request, inviting the entire fucking Wizarding world to share their lives, ignoring the misery raging within her husband. Churning out kids, allowing him to name them to keep him pacified. It all made sense now, and it was a sense that made Harry sick - for he knew, if he hadn't seen the vision, seen how haunted it would make him, he might have been tempted to go along with it.

The sex would have been electrifying after all. Ginny would have done all sorts of things. Nothing would have been off-limits, and there was something to be said for that. Harry half-wished he'd gotten that out of his system too, during their brief, physically-driven fling. But he'd not gotten past the merest of gropes. It was all strictly over-the-knickers stuff. Fun at the time, but an opportunity for more missed.

Harry considered then that he would probably die a virgin. He wouldn't go paying for sex, and he'd never let another girl get close enough to share his life or his bed. He felt a chamber of his heart close permanently at the thought. It was sobering. He wouldn't make angry love to anyone, it wasn't an act that should be powered by such darkness. And Harry felt that's all he had to give anymore.

He took a long breath, deep and heavy. They were all deep and heavy these days. It carried away a grain, an infinitesimal fragment of seven years of strife, of seventeen years of pain and abuse that he had endured.

And the bone-weary exhale made Harry felt no better about any of it.

He wanted to destroy something beautiful. He dug his fingers into the bank of the Great Lake, finding a stone in the mud. He stood up, took another one of those shuddering breaths, and flung the stone as hard as he could across the expanse. It broke the still surface of the water, - not as far away as Harry hoped it would land (he was ashamed of his upper body strength just then) - sending ripples cascading out from the point of contact. He watched them dance as a tide, shimmering in the sunlight as they caught it and spread away. He watched till they dissipated, dying against the shoreline.

Then all was still again. Nothing existed in the world. Heroes didn't feel pain, they didn't hurt. Such things didn't exist.

Except for Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Hero, who had never felt more a fraud for the title. He bowed his head. Decision made. He turned for the castle, walking towards it. When he next left, he doubted he would ever return.

And still the silence observed.

* * *

Hermione cradled her coffee cup, nursed it. It was going cold. It was the third one to follow suit that morning.

But Hermione barely noticed as she wept over the cooling liquid.

A tear splashed into her mug, rippling the surface of the still drink. Hermione was mindful not to sob. It was still early and she didn't want to wake her parents, or their ire at her. She couldn't blame them, her heart ached at the thoughts, the bitter reminders pulling at the corners of her mind. She wished she couldn't think about it, desperately wanted to push the horrific memories to one side, pretend they hadn't happened.

But she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried to.

It was her father's eyes she couldn't shake. He'd never looked so hurt, so disappointed. In _her_. She was Daddy's girl, his pride and joy. Prodigiously gifted, wonderfully intelligent. Gentle, witty, with so much to give. He doubted there would ever be a boy anywhere who deserved her, no family nearly good enough to share her with. But Hermione felt sure that David Granger was now fiercely convinced of one, unerringly fundamental thing:

The Weasley family were most definitely not.

And as for Ron ... Hermione would sooner swallow a hedgehog than to see her father's appraising glances over _him_ again. Hermione closed her eyes, tried to block out the image. What would she call it? Distraught? Devastated? Both were true, both struck to her heart, pierced it. She had so wanted her father's approval of her choice of partner. But his reaction had been as far away from approval as Hermione thought possible.

And the worst part? She couldn't blame him. Not even one bit.

The night had been a disaster, an unmitigated catastrophe. It wasn't supposed to have been like that. None of the slightly panicked scenarios Hermione had imagined in her mind ever had it playing out in that manner. It was supposed to have gone so differently, been so much more positive. But it didn't turn out that way at all.

Instead of the proper introductions, the embarrassed awkwardness, the probable teasing of her burgeoning relationship, Hermione spent the entire evening having to listen to her parents, their careers, the Muggle world in general, being broken down and cast asunder, as though worth no more than a shit-laden scrap of toilet paper. How the Wizarding World was so much better, magic preferable to the quaint idiosyncrasies of the Muggle world and their cutesy ways of _coping_ without magic.

Hermione endured four hours of it.

The cutting quotes, the mindless quips, played through Hermione's mind like a horribly repeating record. An aria of mortification played by an orchestra of rusty saws.

And the Weasleys had been completely oblivious to what they were doing.

There was little more jarring to Hermione's anguished mind than the casual racism, of the quasi-xenophobia they displayed. Their air of superiority was clear, their words spelled it out for the worthless Muggles in their midst. Hermione cringed at the memory, her tears a little stronger now. She had never seen her parents so cut down, so belittled, before. And to be done so by her boyfriends family ... Hermione ached at the thought. Then she remembered the bitter hurt in their eyes, the way they looked at her. So _disappointed_. So utterly, devastatingly disappointed.

For the Grangers were good at what they did. And what they did was good. They were Doctors, doctors of Dentistry, yes, but Doctors nonetheless. And they were leaders in their field. More importantly, they were also caring, considerate practioners of their craft, something their patients were eminently thankful for. Nobody liked the dentist, but the Grangers did all they could to ease the discomfort.

To have this so callously disregarded by Ron and his family made Hermione feel physically sick.

She recoiled from the sensation, tried to choke it back. She loved her Mum and Dad deeply and felt proud of them. The image of them upset sliced right to her heart, and to think of herself as _responsible_ merely poured poisonous acid into the wound. It let out the sob she had been so desperately trying to hold in.

Though it didn't wake her parents, it did mask her mother's entry into the kitchen. By the time Hermione noticed she was there it was too late to hide her tears. She chastened herself when her mother saw her. How dare she cry? Dare ask for sympathy. She, who had brought scorn upon the two people she loved, and who loved her, the most.

Catrin Granger struggled to look at her daughter when she entered the kitchen. Part of her didn't want to. She didn't wholly blame her for last nights fiasco, not nearly as much as her father did, but she was still deeply hurt by it all the same. It stymied that maternal instinct that rose in her when she saw Hermione weeping at the breakfast table.

It wasn't so much Hermione she was upset at. More the world she was so deeply a part of. It clearly viewed people like Catrin and David as second-class citizens. As curiosities to be parodied and pitied. It seemed totally ingrained into the seams of that society, so ensconced in their collective mindset that even families like the Weasleys - who didn't come across as particularly akin to doctrines of racial supremacy on the surface - harboured these beliefs of unwavering superiority over non-Magic people.

Catrin was never one prone to fits of arrogance. She had come from a distinctly working-class background, worked hard for her place at Cardiff University's prestigious medical college, where she met her husband, and together they set up their very successful dental practice in a fairly affluent part of the country between London and Oxford. They were well off and Catrin was always thankful and appreciative that her and David's hard work had paid off. She was humbly grateful for her lot, and never one to lord it over those less fortunate than herself.

But the Weasleys had irritated her so much she felt like doing so for the first time in her life.

They were clearly poor, so to be looked down on by these people rankled with Catrin's bank account. If they had been peasants in the Middle-Ages, which was the last time their clothes would have been in fashion, they would have had to sell their urine to buy food. Piss poor, so to speak. This was a material irritation and Catrin could have let it slide. But they also clearly had a fairly poor level of education and almost no social sense whatsoever. They were dressed like hoboes, were fairly dirty - as if they'd just tumbled out of a fireplace - and looked like they should have been busking in the corridors of the London Underground like some grubby, threadbare version of the Von Trapp's.

Certainly not besmirching her daughter. Certainly not coaxing her into their family, to become one of them. Catrin's heart fell as she thought about it.

And as for that _boyfriend ..._ Catrin tried not to think about him at all. She didn't have the vocabulary to describe how much she disliked him.

She made herself a cup of tea, facing away from Hermione, who was still weeping. She took a lot longer than she normally would, gazing into the wilderness of the back garden as she tried to compose her thoughts. What was she going to say? Or, more accurately, how was she to phrase it, without it sounding like the bitterest of knee-jerk reactions? It was the only logical option, though. David was adamant about that, and Catrin tended to agree with him. No matter how difficult it was, no matter how much it would tear at her heart.

Hermione watched her mother sit down at the table. Her movements were slow, measured. It were as though she were in recovery and moving gingerly to not aggravate tender wounds. The idea flooded Hermione with a sense of sorrow so great she felt she might drown in it. She clung to her coffee cup as though it were a lifebuoy.

For a few minutes neither spoke. Hermione sniffed a bit, dried her eyes and determined to stem her tears, despite the torrent welling being her eyelids. She watched her mother gently blow her tea to cool it. But she could tell she was thinking. The action was a ruse, a delaying tactic, a ploy to buy time. This was serious. Hermione felt her skin prickle with a cold fear. She wasn't going to enjoy this, but she could stand the tension no longer.

"Mum?"

Her mother looked up, offered a tiny smile. But it was full of sadness. But something else, too...something avoidant. She didn't want this discussion either. To see her mother still unhappy, so shaken and uncomfortable, in the pale light of the morning, took the floor from beneath Hermione's feet. Her stomach lurched with the fall.

"You're up awfully early," said Catrin.

Hermione looked back at her coffee, now stone cold. "I couldn't sleep."

Her mother sighed deeply. Hermione tried not to take hope from the tone of recognition of a reflected condition.

"No ... me neither."

"Mum I'm _so_ sorry," Hermione blurted out, still not looking up. She just had to get this started. "I had no idea it would be like that. I don't know how to apologise enough."

"I think you _should_ have expected it," said Catrin. "I'm disappointed you didn't. You're far too clever and perceptive for that."

"Oh Mum, _don't,"_ Hermione whined. "How could I have known?"

"You know the family well," said Catrin. "And that ... that _boy_ ... is your partner now. Can you be that blinded by love that you didn't see it coming?"

Hermione shifted in her seat at the words. Something in them made her uncomfortable. "I don't know that I'm _in love,_ Mum."

"Well, at least that's something," said Catrin. She wished her tone could be less bitter about the Weasleys, less hopeful that this was just a passing fling for her daughter. But there it was.

"Did Dad calm down?" Hermione asked tentatively. "I've not seen him like that before. I don't think he's ever shouted at me like that."

"Oh, that wasn't your father shouting," said Catrin off-handedly. "That was a slightly raised voice. Your father hasn't shouted at anyone properly for years, and be thankful you've never heard it. It's a good thing too. You know how his high-blood pressure gets when he's angry."

Hermione felt her own heart stop for a second. Imagine if she'd caused her father enough stress to make him seriously ill? Another bought of nausea threatened to engulf her.

"But he's still angry with me?"

"Come along, Hermione!" said Catrin, exasperated now. "Don't you see how hurtful all those comments were to us?"

"Of course I do?" said Hermione, tearing up again. "I'm so ashamed, embarrassed. But I know sorry isn't enough. Do you think Dad will forgive me?"

Catrin looked at Hermione silently for a few minutes. The moment was coming. She could sense it.

"I don't think it's as simple an forgiveness, honey."

Hermione swallowed hard. "Do you ... do you think ... does he want me to break up with Ron?"

Catrin almost smiled. Hermione was approaching this as a child might. Her innocence tapped at Catrin's resolve.

"You father isn't pig-headed enough to suggest that," she said. "Neither of us are. We know how stubborn you can get. Once your mind is set to something, there's no swaying you. It's usually an admirable quality."

Hermione chanced a half-grin at this. But Catrin wasn't finished, not by far.

"Your father and I were expecting a reaction like this, just not quite as pronounced. From what you've told us, most wizards think they are superior to us non-Magic folk. To be honest, we used to agree. We know you can do things that would astonish us, blow our minds even. All witches and wizards probably can.

"But that doesn't make you better than us."

Hermione looked up, shocked and wounded. "I _don't_ think I'm better than you because of magic!"

"Don't you?"

Hermione felt like her mother had slapped her. Slapped her back to being eleven years old again. She'd never felt so small or so chastised.

"Mum ... how can you say that?"

"It seems the general attitude, if the Weasleys are anything to go by. And we thought they were some of the better ones. We let you stay with them several times. We thought it was good for you, but now we aren't so sure. We expected more from you than to take their opinions and go along with them."

"But _Mum ..._ I don't," Hermione sobbed. "You have to believe me."

"I'd like to, but you've fallen for one of their sons. If that oldest brother was to be believed, you'll be married to him before too long. You'll be one of them. Next you'll have kids, raise them with the same outlook. And our grandchildren will probably be ashamed of us in your world. We'll become outcasts. They wouldn't want to be seen with us in public. A generation later and we'd be despised, vermin."

Hermione broke down, covered her eyes with her hands. Tears flowed hot and fast. She wanted so much to argue, but in reality all she could do was protest. She knew enough. Her mother had the right of it. Muggleborns, Mudbloods, Half-blood princes - non-Magic blood scorned and shunned. It wasn't a case of _if_ it would happen. It was inevitable and Hermione was powerless to prevent it.

"So what are you saying?"

Catrin caved a little. She reached out and held Hermione's forearm tenderly.

"We don't see the differences the same way those people do," said Catrin. "We can send instant messages via email, cure a whole host of diseases with medicines not so different from your potions. And we are perfectly capable of hurting and killing each other. It's a different route to the same outcome. That's all.

"But it's the attitude that we can't ignore. I remember when we first got married. Your dad and I didn't have much. He was angry then, a lot. He blamed himself, thought he was failing me. The amount of times I wished for a magic wand to make it all better...

"But it wasn't magic, honey. It was graft and hard work, and staying strong together. It gave us all we have, all we gave to you before Hogwarts. And I wouldn't give it up for the world. But this magic you have ... it's part of you in such a fundamental way you might as well be a different species. Your father and I knew there would be difficulties. We were prepared for that. But after last night, we're not so sure we can deal with it, or that we want to. I never want to see your father look that way again. Not after all we've done to make a good life for ourselves. And for _you_."

"Nor do I," Hermione implored. "Just tell me what I can do."

Catrin took a considered breath. "I'm not sure there is anything. We don't belong in your world, we don't want to be there to be poked fun at and ridiculed. And maybe ... maybe you don't belong in ours anymore, either."

Hermione drew breath sharply, her heart beating a tattoo beneath her ribcage, her thoughts racing a mile a minute. Panic was setting in.

"What are you saying?" she whispered, her voice as small as it could be. "Mum ... a-are you kicking me out?"

Catrin felt the words cut her roughly. She never thought she'd ever say them, never even think them. But there they were, etched on the front of her mind.

"I'm just saying, sweetheart - you're 18 now. You'll be striking out on your own into the world very soon. I just don't think that world will be this one."

Hermione yelped and jumped up. She threw her arms around her mother's neck. She couldn't help it.

"Please don't, Mum," she sobbed into Catrin's shoulder. "It's too soon. I'm just not ready!"

Catrin hugged her daughter back. It would have been all kinds of wrong if she didn't. There was no way she could sit here with her so utterly distraught. But it didn't eliminate the greater problem.

"P-please Mum ... talk to Dad. _Make_ him forgive me. Please don't send me away. I ... I don't know where I'd go."

"There isn't an easy solution, sweetheart," said Catrin. "If you were to stay, your father would never allow Ron over. Or any of his family. Maybe it would be best, easier for _you_ , to go to them. To go somewhere in that world. We could pay..."

Hermione howled. Not sobbed, howled at the notion. She couldn't believe what was happening. How one bad night could have turned into _this_. But there didn't seem to be anything she could do. Her parents had apparently decided already.

"I-I was going to go back to school, re-redo my last year," she managed to say between impassioned hiccups. "Would you ... can I stay until then? Please, Mum. Just for o-one more year? It would only b-be the Summer and Christmas, really. If ... if you still feel the same after that, I ... I'll go."

Hermione sounded so pitiful, so young and vulnerable. The sound broke Catrin's heart. Her little girl didn't shatter like this. She didn't think she could bear it.

"Okay, honey, I'll speak to your father," she said softly. She had to soothe her baby. She couldn't let her hurt like this, no matter what. "But the no wizards in our house rule will definitely apply, that's for certain. It will be a _long_ time before either your father or I will contemplate interacting with that world again."

"Absolutely," said Hermione, withdrawing her head from her mother's shoulder, nodding vigorously. "I have to return to Hogwarts in a couple of days. There's a celebration to mark a month since Lord Voldemort - the Dark Wizard - was killed. I'll speak to the Headmistress then and arrange everything."

 _And to see Harry,_ she thought to herself. The idea startled her, for its abruptness, for absolutely cutting to the heart of her need, for its accuracy. For at that moment she really, really needed to see him, to be near him. She needed him to console her, make everything better. He was good at that. She just hoped his _saving-people-thing_ might extend to her one more time.


	3. No Long Goodbyes

The portrait was nearly twenty feet tall. Harry looked up at it and wanted to be physically sick. It was a fairly accurate rendering, except for the one, glaring mistake in the detail that had Harry's insides roiling. He was there, well depicted. Stockier and stronger than in reality, but he wasn't about to correct that. Voldemort was there too, his slit-like red eyes unsettlingly real. It was the moment of his defeat, that momentous point in time that in a few hours witches and wizards from all over the country would arrive at Hogwarts to celebrate, reflected in magical paint and ink.

What Harry couldn't stomach were the actions of his moving facsimile.

It was casting a spell with an acid green tail. Harry didn't want this on display at all.

"That wasn't how it happened," he'd protested when the portrait first arrived. "I didn't -"

"Everyone knows that," said Alexandra Woodhouse, the artist, abruptly cutting him off. "This is just dramatic reinterpretation. Happens all the time. It just _looks_ better. And it's only for one night. People wont notice the finer details."

Harry wasn't so sure. As he considered the painting, standing where the teachers' high table normally was, he greatly doubted this assertion. It was the centrepiece of the room, an altar for reverence and celebration. _Everyone_ would be looking at it. Worse still, a small side table had been placed next to it, with a large ledger propped open on a stand, and a handsome eagle-feather quill and inkpot for company. A Book of Thanks. For everyone to scribble their words of appreciation. For Harry. A memento of his victory.

As though he wanted to remember it forever.

He shuddered as he thought of it. They'd want him to sit nearby, he was sure of that. As much on display as the huge painting. People would be queueing to shake his hand, maybe ask for an autograph, or worse. He'd already had two marriage proposals from witches he'd never met. And then people would want him to recount the event, relive the battle again and again. Maybe even make a speech. Oh, they would definitely expect a speech. As though he had suddenly become a great orator since he'd committed a murder. They'd look to him for all sorts of things. But they'd have to look a long time.

Because Harry intended to be a long way away by the time any of this happened.

It had taken a few days to get things in order. His few possessions didn't take long to pack. Most of his clothes were still at Privet Drive, stored in his trunk since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He'd mail ordered some new Muggle things, he'd need them where he was going. These were now stashed neatly away in a magically-modified man-bag (they were all the fashion, apparently) along with anything of value Harry had left in his dorm at Hogwarts. His Firebolt was there, too, lying on his bed next to the silvery Invisibility Cloak he'd inherited from his father, and a wad of Muggle money.

Everything was ready. Harry could leave right now.

But he was waiting for something. The moment was fast approaching, Harry knew that. He felt there was another loose end he had to tie up, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He hoped the realisation would just come to him when the time was right. So for now he just meandered around the castle, watching the final preparations for the party being put into place.

Party. Harry spat at the notion. It would be more fitting for a memorial. Harry might have stayed for that. A remembrance service for those who had died in this struggle against darkness. Those who had pointlessly given their lives when it was Harry's task in the end. It had always been his task. Written in prophecy, set in destiny. Why had anyone else even bothered? Why had they raised their wands? Why hadn't Harry just been better for them, or Dumbledore more active in his pursuit of the Dark Lord?

And Harry felt sick again.

He closed his eyes, fighting back another surge of bitterness. Against Voldemort, against Dumbledore, against himself and his lot in life. It should have been so much easier, so much more straight forward than this. Harry had analysed it all deeply in the aftermath. Voldemort had been little more than vapour for eleven years. A shadow, a half-ghost, nothing to threaten until he shared a body with Quirrell. Dumbledore should have hunted him, picked him off. It would have been child's play for a wizard like Dumbledore.

But just like with Grindelwald, he showed disinterest bordering on cowardess. And Harry was made to suffer for this passivity.

And it angered him now. Now that reality was settling on him, now that he could see only a bleak, lonely future ahead. Dumbledore had to shoulder much of this blame. He knew about the Horcruxes. For _eleven_ years. Why didn't he go after them, so sure in his assertion that Voldemort would return some day? Why wait, be so reactionary? Was he waiting to see what would happen, in case Voldemort had changed his ways? He had that irksome Defence Against the Dark Arts post to constantly fill, after all. And who would make a more informed Professor than Tom Riddle in such an area?

And speaking of Defence teachers, why the hell didn't he tackle Quirrell himself once he suspected him? Why be all coy, and have Snape keep an eye on him? He should have just unmasked him and dealt with Voldemort personally. Surely that was worthy of his attention. Harry clenched his jaw at the thought. _He'd_ gone after Quirrell as soon as he knew what was afoot, hadn't he. Granted, he thought it was Snape he was after, but he went anyway without a second thought. A boy, taking on a man's fight. And it was a task that nearly killed him and his friends.

Fucking Dumbledore. Passive old coot. Afraid of power because, for one summer when he was seventeen, he thought about subjugating humanity ... okay maybe there was something it that. But still, not all responsibility was quite so grandiose. And he had gone into teaching, shaping the lives of hundreds of children who would pass under his care. Harry could think of fewer roles with _more_ responsibility, more chance of shaping the world in one man's image.

But he hadn't bothered to use his immense power for anything useful. He didn't even kill Grindelwald, just took his wand and shut him up in a prison for Voldemort to find him later. At least Harry had the good sense to actually _kill_ Voldemort, get rid of the evil bastard for good. It had been a clean job, no matter how much the moral ambiguity was now wracking at his senses.

But it needn't have been like that, so long and drawn out, so affecting. Harry thought he might eventually be able to acclimatise to the murder part of it. Maybe compartmentalise it. It was necessary, it _had_ to be done. There was no two ways about it. And if fate, destiny and all that crap deemed that _he_ was the one who had to do it, then he really had little choice, no matter how fucked up it was and to hell with the damage it would do his his body and his psyche. And his chance of a peaceful, happy future.

But there was no need for the complexity of it, if competent people had just stepped up to the plate. It needn't to have even been Dumbledore himself. He could have passed the job on, spread the burden around. Got the Aurors to actually _do something useful_ for a change. Because from where Harry was sat, they were a pretty fucking amateurish bunch.

Pack of tossers.

Look how easy it had been for Voldemort to take over! It was a piece of piss. He didn't even have to try that hard. He didn't even have to show his ugly face until the end. And look how everyone simply accepted it! Magic Is Might, the Muggleborn Register, Umbridge as Minister, scorning and hunting Harry _again_ for a whole bloody year! The most undesirable man in the country.

And nobody had done a fucking thing.

Anyone who might of just sat on their arses and waited for Harry to show up and save the day. What they expected him to do was beyond him. They knew him, knew his capabilities and his limits. He had only done six years of school, and if it wasn't for Hermione's constant help he might not have managed that. He'd never thanked her properly for it. He should, he _would_ , when he next saw her. It might be the last time, after all...

So he only had six years of schooling, in which time he had only had one half-decent Dark Arts teacher and had attended a Duelling Class just once, and that was in his second flaming year. And he'd done one spell. Oh, and scared the bollocks off everyone by speaking to a snake.

Voldemort must have been shitting himself at facing such an opponent.

But everyone expected him to suddenly become Voldemort's equal after he disappeared into the country. Did they think he'd gone underground? Found some wizarding military school and been tooled up to come out, wand blazing? They all wanted him to be the hero they'd built him up to be, to become the reputation and the legend. So they sat and waited for him while Voldemort, behind a mask of equally dark witches and wizards in Wizard Government that nobody challenged, silently and easily took over. Then, when Harry did re-emerge, he managed to beat Voldemort and brought to fruition everyone's expectations, made flesh their hopes. He was their hero.

But Harry knew better.

It was luck, blind luck that won the day. Harry was sat in the Great Hall looking at the spot where it happened, that giant, inaccurate reminder looming just to the right of it. He'd cast a Disarming Charm, a defensive spell. He hadn't attacked. He didn't know the spells would collide and rebound. It was only now that he thought how fortunate it was that Voldemort's spell had gone right back at him, as his own spell ricocheted off in another direction. Essentially, old Tom had actually killed himself. Just like the first time.

Harry hadn't done anything at all, really.

It didn't make him feel any better about being a murderer. He cast the spell that caused it, it was still his fault. It was his hands that had blood on them, that had caused a death. He looked at them in his lap, as though trying to see the residue itself. Voldemort's life, taken by that skin, those digits. And not just once. Three times. As a baby, when he stabbed the diary, and then the final piece itself. Three times a killer.

And they wanted to revere him for it.

It bothered Harry greatly that they weren't toasting the others, only vaunting him. When other people had contributed just as much. Especially Ron and Hermione. One Horcrux each. Neville doing the snake. Dumbledore was owed a piece, as he took care of the ring. Harry thought bitingly that it was better than nothing, but still he should have done more. Even Crabbe had a share. Or was it Goyle? Harry couldn't remember which one of those retarded morons had cast the fire spell which took out the diadem. None of these people were being put on such a lofty pedestal.

No, it was just Harry, the only one of them who actually took a life. And the act was going to cost him his own. He knew that surely as he did his right from his left. Not in a stop breathing, no pulse sort of way. But in that other, more ephemeral definition. Harry's life wouldn't be worthy of the name. He pondered the nomadic existence he was about to embark upon, vaguely chewing over where he would go and what he would do with himself. The possibilities were endless, the choice so vast it was frightening to face such an uncertain road. But Harry was set on taking it.

And taking it alone.

* * *

The lights from the Entrance Hall flickered out into the dwindling light. The long Summer day was already beginning to draw in. The sun was dipping behind the mountains, the last of its blood orange glow rippling on the surface of the lake. There was a light breeze, tickling the leaves of trees and sweeping across the skin of the people walking through the grounds of Hogwarts.

Hermione was trying to take a head count. Or at least a _head guess_. There were dozens, maybe a hundred. And that was just on the path towards the school. Judging by the noise coming from inside the castle, half the wizarding population seemed to have shown up for this celebration. She couldn't really blame them. It promised to be a special night. Hermione had bought a lovely new dress just for the occasion.

Ron had been appreciative enough. There was a palpable awkwardness between them. It had been there since they'd met for pre-drinks at the Three Broomsticks. In fact, Hermione considered now that it always seemed to be there. But this was natural, she had convinced herself of that. Her first boyfriend, her first romantic relationship. And with someone she'd been best friends with for years.

It was bound to be a bit weird at first, wasn't it?

Having Ron looking at her in _that way,_ in her new dress, was certainly weird. It made her feel oddly exposed, nude even, to be goggled at in such a manner. She supposed she should be flattered. A boyfriend should ogle the girl on his arm, fantasise over her, shouldn't he? It would be strange if he didn't. But Hermione didn't feel flattered. She felt objectified and not in a positive way. If there was such a thing. More than once she'd surreptitiously tugged her neckline up when Ron wasn't looking.

Not that he'd noticed.

They were making their way along the path towards the school. Hermione was scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The other Weasleys were just ahead of them. Hermione had barely been able to look at them when they'd met up. The memories of the disaster night with her parents were still raw and vivid. She felt this might have added to the awkwardness with Ron. She shifted a bit as she thought that. _Added t_ o. As though the awkwardness were a reservoir that could be topped up. Always there, bobbing below her skin. That was an uncomfortable sensation. It settled ill on her mind.

She noticed her grip on Ron's arm loosen reflexively. She had a spiking urge to let go of him altogether, startled by how much she wanted to. But at that moment Ron gripped her tighter, as though to make up the shortfall. Her mind was now focused intently on the contact between them and she felt an odd, darkly disquieting feeling flood through her.

_She didn't want him touching her._

Where had that come from? It was the first time she'd ever thought anything like it since they'd started going out. But now it had happened she found she couldn't _unthink_ it. She was deeply upset by it. She felt as though something had broken in her. She tried to imagine him kissing her again, touching her in private ways. She had always thrilled at the ideas before.

But now they made her vomit a little in her mouth.

She pushed hard at the thoughts, to drive them away. But it was no good. They were taking residence in her brain, pulling up chairs for the duration. She desperately wanted to forget the sensation, for things to go back to how they had been. She'd been happy back then. Well, she _thought_ she'd been. Hadn't she been happy, to finally have what she wanted?

She had thought it would have been _better_ , she couldn't deny that. Without any of this pervading awkwardness. She always imagined her anger, her upset, the agony that consumed her so when she endured those months watching Ron fornicating all over Gryffindor Tower with Lavender Brown, would be transformed to elation when she finally got the boy herself.

But it hadn't quite worked out that way. Not yet, anyway. Hermione told herself that it would, reminded herself that she knew the first few months would be like this. She had expected it. She was resolute in the belief that as soon as Ron got over the childish, adolescent approach to the relationship and started taking it seriously that all would be well. That as soon as he stopped giggling every time he poked her boobs, or when he started caressessing her bum - rather than kneading it like a troll making pizza dough - that everything else would just fall into place.

She'd have rathered their first kiss be a bit more romantic. It wasn't a memory she was likely to treasure. The Chamber of Secrets had stunk of dead basilisk. Dead, six-years-in-the-rotting basilisk at that. The stench had stuck in their throats. Hermione could still taste it now. And the school's waste pipes ran through there, and not all of the ancient plumbing was in great nick. Hermione remembered being dripped on when Ron kissed her. It might have been piss. Or worse, it could have been the _other._

Hermione tasted more vomit as she remembered the moment.

Luckily, they were now entering the school. They had to surrender to a search and bag-check. It allowed Hermione to finally disentangle herself from Ron's vice-like grip. She didn't intend to let him renew it later. Once through the security checks Hermione was able to blend in with the flow of the crowd, Ron right behind her. It wasn't practical to hold onto each other and Hermione was glad of the excuse.

The Hall was packed, so crammed full of people it was already uncomfortably hot. It was difficult to see how they'd all fitted into the space. It didn't help that a dancefloor had been erected off to one side, along with a bandstand at which _The Weird Sisters_ were conducting sound checks. Hermione spotted Neville and waved. His grandmother was with him, looking as fierce as ever.

"We're right at the front," said Ginny coming up behind them. "A table right near the stage. Should be great."

 _Yeah, we wont be able to hear ourselves think_ , Hermione considered bitterly. But she allowed Ron to place his hand on the small of her back and guide her across the room. She tried not to recoil from his touch, even though every fibre of her being was encouraging her to do so.

Then she saw it.

A giant painting, easily twenty foot high and wide, dominating the far end of the room. They were all looking at it. It showed Harry defeating Voldemort. Hermione frowned. It showed Harry using the Killing Curse on Voldemort, but that wasn't how it happened. Harry wouldn't like that. She felt angry for him. She wanted to shut up the people looking admiringly at his depiction. What the hell did they know about anything?

"Oh dear, Harry _reall_ _y_ wont like that," Hermione said to the others.

"Oh, I don't know," said Ron, grinning. "They've given him proper muscles. He'd love that."

"He had pretty decent muscles anyway," said Ginny, somewhat dreamily. "Quidditch kept him well in trim."

Hermione didn't like hearing Ginny say that. She couldn't say why, she just didn't. It didn't sit well with her. She frowned again.

"Where is the Boy Wonder anyway?" asked George, who had joined them. "Didn't think he'd waste a minute milking this."

Hermione snapped around and scowled at him. She hadn't meant to, but it was reactionary. Something powerful rose in her chest, something protective.

"Harry would not _milk_ this!" she cried passionately. "In fact, I think he would probably _hate_ it."

She knew he would. Without doubt. He had never courted fame, nor revelled in it when it found him. She looked around for him now, flooded with a desperate urge to shield him from all this. From all the stares and the questions and the demands. He wouldn't be able to deal with it on his own. He needed her.

But where was he?

She couldn't see him, and he was hard to miss at the best of times. His messy hair untameable even by magic. In any case, people would be clumped around him, smothering him, encasing him if they knew where he was. Hermione felt her heart beat anxiously as she imagined the scene. She would help him, if only she knew where he was, suffering on his own.

_Poor Harry!_

"Whoa, go easy Hermione," Ron said, cutting into Hermione's growing sense of despair. She'd completely forgotten Ron was there. "George didn't mean that as a dig."

Hermione couldn't see Harry at the bottom of any mass pile-on in the room, so she breathed a sigh of relief and dragged herself back to the conversation.

"I know, I'm just worried about Harry. Has anyone seen him?"

"Herms, we've only just got here," Ron pointed out fairly.

Hermione wished he wouldn't call her that. It made her sound like an STD.

"Then shouldn't we go and find him?" she implored.

"He'll be along," said Ron. "Probably just putting the finishing touches to his speech!"

 _A speech?_ Oh, no, they wouldn't make him do that, would they? Of course they would. Poor Harry! Hermione chided herself. Why hadn't she been up before now? She could have helped him, kept him company at the very least. But she'd ignored him. She felt a terrible friend in that moment. Her heart hammered furiously as a desire to make it up to Harry coursed through her. It was powerful stuff.

"I'll just grab us some drinks, babe," said Ron. He kissed her cheek. "You look great tonight, you know?"

Hermione gave a half-smile and watched Ron leave. As soon as he was swallowed by the crowd, Hermione took off in the other direction. She craned her neck over the heads of the throng, looking for the right one. Harry wasn't here, she was certain of that. There wasn't the buzz of excitement around the room that would have accompanied the star turn. She wasn't cheered by that.

But she was only half-looking for Harry. Like Ron said, he would turn up eventually and she would be here for him when he did. But she had other business to attend to as well. After a few minutes of being jostled by the swelling numbers, Hermione spotted her quarry. She pushed her way through the mass of witches and wizards towards her.

Professor McGonagall was sensibly standing outside the Great Hall, ushering people in and looking mildly concerned at the crush within. She and Professor Flitwick flanked the doors like sentries. Hermione made her way to them and took a recovering breath as she left the Hall.

"Quite an ordeal, this crowd," said Professor McGonagall. "It is nice to see you, Miss Granger."

"And you Professor," said Hermione. " _Professors._ "

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Flitwick squeaked. "Glad you could make it."

"Well I didn't want to be the odd witch out," said Hermione, sardonically. "Is there any magical person _not_ here?"

McGonagall smiled. "There may be a few stuck in the Outer Hebrides. But that's just a rumour."

Hermione grinned back. "Um ... Professor, do you have a minute? I'd like to ask you about something."

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Let's step away from this tide."

She led Hermione away from the Entrance Hall and to the Main Staircase, where both sat down. Hermione looked around. Most of the damage of the battle had been repaired but there was still some sections held up by scaffolding and cordoned off. Professor McGonagall followed Hermione's line of sight.

"Repairing the castle has not been easy. There is magical protection in the fibre of the very bricks and mortar. Replacing it and recasting the enchantments is taking longer than any of us would have liked."

"What sorts of enchantments?"

"Anti-cheat spells on the examination rooms," McGonagall explained. "The No Male Access Charms on the staircases to all the girls' dormitories, the Anti-Disapparition Jinxes, that sort of thing. We want to try and make them stronger than they were. You never can be too careful. But with the new term so close to starting, I wonder if we'll get it all done in time."

"Well, there isn't an immediate threat, is there?" said Hermione. "There isn't an imperative rush to make it safe."

McGonagall looked at Hermione, her expression a little disappointed. "I would have thought you a little more clever than to think that, Miss Granger. Now that Voldemort is gone, there is a void to take up, and clearly supporters to garner. There will always be wizards and witches who will succumb to the pull of darkness. Which is why we need to get back to safety for when students return here in a couple of weeks."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," said Hermione. "With ... well, everything that happened, I obviously didn't get to do my seventh year, and I'd really like to. I want to finish, to graduate. I know I'm a bit older, but do you think there's any way I could return and do my last year?"

Professor McGonagall looked sternly at her, stern but respectful again. "Your commitment to learning is admirable, Miss Granger, but there really is little need. There are plans in place to give you an honorary graduation, with high distinctions of course. To reflect your contribution to the war, and your considerable academic skill. Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are to be granted similar."

"But I'd really like to come back and earn it," said Hermione. "I'd feel such a fake if I had only an honorary diploma. Is there any way I can?"

McGonagall thought a moment. "It's unusual, but I can't see any reason why not. I would have one condition, however."

"Alright," said Hermione, somewhat cautiously.

"I would have to insist on making you Head Girl," said McGonagall simply. "Dumbledore had you penned in for it anyway, since the early days. And I can think of no better candidate, no one I would rather have setting the example for the returning students."

Hermione blushed crimson and smiled warmly at the Headmistress.

"I'd be delighted, it would be my honour," said Hermione. She paused a moment. "But who will be Head Boy? Do you know yet? Did Dumbledore have anyone in mind?"

"His choice would have been Mister Potter, naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "He always wanted to pair you two together."

Hermione blushed harder at that. She felt her heart flutter girlishly as the words tiptoed around her head. Her and Harry together ... imagine that?

But she couldn't, that was dangerous territory. She wished she could stop smiling at the idea though.

"He would have been my choice, too," Professor McGonagall continued, breaking Hermione from her wild reverie. "But I suppose there is little chance of him following your example and returning?"

"I really wouldn't know," said Hermione. "I haven't seen Harry for weeks."

"Perhaps that's why he looks so morose," said Professor McGonagall. Hermione's stomach jolted at the words, the image. "He really has been unhappy. This whole affair has taken a terrible toll on him, not that I need tell _you_ that."

Hermione had to find Harry. Right now. She had to wind up this chat. She had what she wanted from it.

"Do you know where he is? What time he's planning to come down?" she asked.

"That's something _I_ couldn't tell _you_ ," said McGonagall. "Mister Potter may have been resident here for the last month, but he's kept very much to himself. I couldn't tell you the last time I spoke to him. He wouldn't have said much, whenever it was. Even Hagrid said he hasn't been the most conversational these past weeks. Not that I blame him. What a burden to carry."

"I'm going to see if I can find him," said Hermione jumping up, now a ball of potential energy. "Thanks for letting me come back, Professor. I'll see you later."

And she took off. Her heart was thudding anxiously. She wasn't sure why. It was as if she were running for a train she dared not miss, without knowing if it had left without her already. Then it hit her.

_Harry might have left already._

She didn't know _how_ she knew that he was planning to leave, but the idea wouldn't shift now it had occurred to her. He was going to slip away silently. That was his way, it was what he'd do. There'd be no long goodbyes, no cascade of arguments for him to change his mind. He'd take one last look at them, probably from afar, then spirit himself away before any of them had time to protest.

And hot tears came spilling out of Hermione's eyes at the notion.

She had to find him, had to see him, even if it was for one last time. She felt a sob escape her. She wouldn't allow that, wouldn't stand for it. There would not be a _last time_ at all. Why had she even let such a ludicrous idea sweep her mind? Harry would always be there. Smiling and laughing and looking after her. Making her feel safe, as he always did. She'd never fully realised that, until now, when the security blanket that he embodied was about to be pulled from around her shoulders. She _couldn't_ allow it. Harry couldn't just leave her life, not like this. Not without a fight. He _had_ to still be here. He just had to be.

He wasn't in the owlery, the main hall or the dungeons. Hermione ticked off the locations in her mind like a game of Cluedo. There were places he couldn't be, of course, like the other House Common Rooms, and places he would be daft to be, like the Forbidden Forest, the Whomping Willow or the boat house. He had no business there. Hermione hoped to find him at the Quidditch pitch, soaring around doing what he loved the most. Hermione did so love to watch him fly. It was the only time she saw such exhilaration on his face. It made him very handsome when that happened. Hermione had never told him that. Never told anyone it. It was her guilty little secret.

If Ron ever found out...

She tried not to think of Ron. He'd be going spare wondering where she was. After all, she'd been gone ages. But finding Harry was her imperative. But he wasn't playing Quidditch or flying either. Hermione even searched the stands. It would be a perfect place to escape. She went to check the changing rooms in case she'd just missed him. But Harry wasn't there. And he wasn't the only thing absent.

Hermione's heart stopped for a second, her gut lurching to the floor. She began to feel a genuine whir of panic in her mind.

Harry's Firebolt was missing.

His jersey was still there, pegged up next to the others of the Gryffindor Team. Their brooms were clipped onto the wall next to their individual changing space. The same was true of all the other House Teams. But Harry's was missing. Someone had taken it. A horrible realisation came crashing into Hermione's mind.

_He's taken it. He's gone._

_No!_

She couldn't accept it, couldn't believe it. She clung to Harry's Quidditch jersey as if it were a lifebuoy, balling her fists into the fabric and drawing on his faint scent still present in the fibres. He must still be here. He wouldn't do this to her. Not to _her._ He'd easily cast everyone else aside, even Ron. But he wouldn't abandon her to the world without so much as a wave. He had to still be here.

Hermione was vaulting the staircase to the Gryffindor Boys' dormitory before she even knew it. She'd never run so fast, so needily, in all her life. She barely remembered crossing the distance between the Quidditch pitch and here. But she had done it and she flung open the door to the top dormitory now, desperate to see a mess of black hair sitting inside.

But there wasn't. The room was empty.

In fact, it was worse than that. Harry's wardrobe and beside table were bare. The doors were still open. There was nothing there. The picture of his mum and dad was gone. That was the final death knell to Hermione's hopes. She sat on Harry's bed and gathered up his pillow, crying powerfully into the feathers. She couldn't believe how much she ached. How much she hurt. She didn't think she could ever feel this distraught. It meant something, she wasn't stupid to that fact, but she would attend to that later. For now she just wanted to mourn.

Harry might have died and it would have been easier.

The not knowing was killing her. Why had he gone so abruptly? Just left like that? He must be so torn up inside. The idea simply made Hermione sob that much harder. She ran over all the things she might have done, might have said, now and before. Things that might have made him better, made him stay. She didn't know what to do with herself. Guilt welled up and engulfed her, and a sorrow so deep and profound saturated her that she struggled for a good breath. She coughed and spluttered and thought she might be physically sick.

She needed air. She couldn't return to the Great Hall like this. She left the boys' dorm and headed out of the Common Room, but instead of turning down the stairs she made her way along the deserted corridors and headed for the Astronomy Tower. She had to clear her head. She walked sadly up the spiralling stairway and emerged onto the parapet. And her heart stopped again.

Because Harry was there, waiting for her.

Hermione looked at him for a few seconds, as though seeing a myth come true before her eyes. Then she ran over and flung herself at Harry, snatching him into the tightest hug she had ever given. She was too overwhelmed to even cry again. Harry returned her hug warmly. She thought she could feel him smiling into her hair. She knew he hadn't felt anything positive for a long while, and was telling her so in the affection of this hug. Hermione didn't want to let him go.

But she did. She had to tell him off. "You scared me to death, you know. Where have you _been?"_

Harry wanted to laugh. Hermione looked borderline hysterical. His heart thawed a bit. He'd missed her.

"I thought you'd left me, you know...left all of us," Hermione went on. Why was she blushing? "Why aren't you downstairs? It wont do at all for the hero of the hour to miss his own party."

Harry's expression darkened. What had she done? Had _she_ made him look like that? So downcast? A curse on her if she had. Harry let go of the remnants of her hug and moved to the low wall of the parapet.

"I'm not going down there," said Harry. His voice was cracked. It was broken. He was broken, maybe beyond repair. Hermione's heart bled at the sound. "They can celebrate without me."

"But you cant stay up here all night," said Hermione, knowing already the futility of what she was saying. She could tell in Harry's posture what he was going to do.

"I don't intend to do that, either," he said quietly. He turned to her. "I have to leave, Hermione. I have to get away from here, from all this. I know you'll understand."

Hermione's lip quivered. "No, Harry you cant. I can't let you. What am I going to do without you to cheer me up?"

Harry crossed to her and took her hands. "You'll be fine. You have Ron. You don't need me anymore."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," said Hermione, more forcefully than she'd meant. She suddenly realised how much she _did_ need him. The realisation floored her. She felt unsteady on her feet.

"It wont be forever," said Harry. "I just have to get myself sorted. I cant do that here. There are just too many reminders. I have to get away for a while."

"But where will you go?"

"I don't honestly know. I'll see where the wind takes me, I suppose."

"I'll come with you," said Hermione.

For a second, Harry was tempted. Far more than he thought he would be. He chuckled to himself. He knew Hermione would offer to go with him, after she'd tried to make him stay. He hadn't wanted company for weeks, certainly hadn't wanted anyone to leave with him once he'd made the decision to go. But now Hermione was here, offering to, he thought it might be nice to take her with him. It would spare him the wrench of leaving her behind.

He knew then that this was the final thread he'd been waiting to trim up. Of all the people in his life, Hermione was the only one he wanted to say goodbye to. It would be painfully hard, but he wanted her to see him off as he left, wanted her to be the last friendly face he saw. She would give him courage. She always did that.

But she couldn't come with him.

"No, you have to stay," said Harry. "This is where you should be, it's where you belong."

"But what about you?"

"I don't know if I really belong anywhere anymore," said Harry. "Maybe there's somewhere out there that will change my mind. That's what I'm going to find out."

Hermione let a tear escape her this time. Harry was about to leave. She could feel it. And it was killing her, gnawing at her from the inside out. She wished she had the words that would change his mind, prayed for something to occur to her that would make him stay. She had a niggle that there was something that would work, but she couldn't take hold of it. Time was running out.

"How long will you be gone? When will I see you again?"

Harry sighed heavily. "I don't know. A few years maybe."

"Oh, Harry, _no_ ," she cried, flinging her arms around his neck again. "Don't say that!"

Harry slipped his arms around Hermione's waist and held her close, drank in her warmth. It would be the last time. And the understanding that it was made his heart beat hard in protest. His brain seemed to refuse to send the signal to his arms to let her go. But the fight was useless. Eventually, Harry stepped back. He found it difficult to look at Hermione, her watery eyes sparkling in the moonlight. There was a lump in his throat as he tried to form his adieu.

Harry cupped Hermione's head in his hands and smiled at her. "You were always my favourite, you know? The best of best friends. _My actual best friend_. You always stood by me, never flinching once. I've never said how much I appreciated that. Or that I know I never deserved it. Thank you, Hermione."

Hermione was crying freely now. There was no point pretending otherwise. She couldn't speak. Now that Harry was leaving she felt she had a million things she wanted to say to him, but words failed her at the worst moment. Couldn't get past her heart, where it had slammed upwards and into her throat.

Then Harry did something he'd never done before. He stepped in and placed a gentle, lingering kiss to her cheek. It was a fraction too close to her mouth and actually caught the edge of her lips. Hermione felt it tingle all the way down to her toes.

Harry stepped away again, picked up his Firebolt and a shoulder bag from where he'd set them on the floor, and prepared to kick off from the parapet. He turned back to Hermione, smiled at her one last time, then said with warm sincerity,

"You look beautiful tonight."

Then he took off and sped away into the night, leaving Hermione and her tears to watch him go.


	4. Chance Is A Fine Thing

Harry tilted down his aviators, feeling the warm sun on his eyelids. The girls on that table over there were _definitely_ looking at him. They weren't even being subtle about it. He knew he looked cool. He'd paid enough for these damned sunglasses, after all. And the look was clearly working. Both girls were eyeing him up blatantly. And they were each startlingly good-looking. He wondered if either would try to chat him up. He hoped not.

He really didn't want to hurt their feelings. They were far too pretty for that.

Looking was all very well, but Harry had imagined a sort of Shield Charm around himself. Or had he cast it around the rest of the world, to keep them out? He wasn't sure. But the effect was the same. A ring of distance that other people had to keep. No one closer than a couple of feet. That was near enough.

It had been a fortnight or so since Harry had left Hogwarts, and about the same time since he had properly spoken to anyone. He was adjusting to the solitude now. And it wasn't so bad, if he didn't think about it too much. It was still sunny outside and he could spend his days eating ice cream and getting some long-needed colour into his skin. The sun was an elixir. He bathed in its warmth as long as it lasted each day, chasing it around Britain, where the weather was unpredictably variable and changed without warning.

Not that such a thing would restrict a wizard like Harry Potter.

Today's sun seeking had brought him to Oxford. He'd always wanted to come here, to the home of one of the world's great universities. It was an indulgence to simply walk around and enjoy the ancient architecture and the array of historical colleges vying for dominance in the city. It was a beautiful place, inspiring even. Harry planned to spend quite a bit of time here, exploring it as much as he could. There was lots to see and plenty to do. He was looking forward to it.

He got up and left the little park he had been sat in. He couldn't help but chance a last glance at the girls who'd been eyeing him up. They looked disappointed to see him go, maybe rueing a missed chance. He smiled to himself. It didn't hurt to be admired, especially by fit girls like those. But that was a folly, enjoyment that was best given to someone else. Someone who might be worthy of it.

Not a murderer like him. He had no right to claim such heavenly pleasures.

His first stop was the Ashmolean Museum. They were running an exhibition on the practice of magic the world over. Harry couldn't resist. At least if anyone spotted his wand they might think he was just getting into character for the event. He paid his entry fee and entered the lofty building.

It was fascinating, to see the Muggle take on magic. Harry realised Hermione may have had a point all along. That Muggle Studies might _actually_ have been a subject worth taking. He smiled at the thought of Hermione. He liked thinking about her. It brought him comfort. He often wondered if she ever thought about him. She would have made a great partner today. It was her sort of place.

The exhibition was exuberant fun. A bit dark and morbid at times, with tales of cannibalism in some parts of the world for the weirdest magic, but it was shockingly inaccurate. Harry loved it, he was having a great time. He wistfully remembered the days when he thought this was what magic was, before he went to Hogwarts and it all changed. That it was all pulling rabbits out of hats and saying funny words. Well, you still had to say funny words, and the rabbits were obviously just Summoned to the hats, pretty basic stuff really.

But they'd neglected to mention Dark Wizards who tried to kill babies. Neither definition, Magic nor Muggle, had covered that sort of thing.

Harry left the magic exhibition and went to look at the ancient Egypt section. He'd always loved the ancient world. When he was done with Britain, when it was raining everywhere - which was inevitable - he planned to Apparate across to Cairo and visit the pyramids. He thought of the tan he would get exploring the ancient tombs. And where he would go when he was done with that.

For that was his loose plan, maybe for forever. Just bounce from place to place, see everything he could until his money ran out. What he would do after that was catalogued in the same sort of vague way he'd always imagined a post-Voldemort world. As though it'd never happen. He supposed he'd just cross that bridge when he came to it.

Harry stayed in the museum almost until it closed. By the time he headed back out onto the streets of Oxford the light was beginning to dim. Harry had been looking forward to this. The buildings of the old colleges were so beautiful he was dying to see what they would look like lit up at night. He calculated that he had plenty of time to grab some food before going on a night time jaunt around the city.

Then he would decide where he would sleep that night.

He refused to pay for hotels, that was silly money to waste. Not when he was armed with the Confundus Charm. He wasn't hurting anyone, just taking up otherwise empty rooms. And he was always mindful to leave a nice tip for the maids, who did all the hard work in these places anyway.

But that was for later. Harry sat in a burger bar and world-watched through the window. He had to stop eating burgers. He would put on so much weight. But they were so _good_. It was an addiction. Harry watched people passing by, absorbed in their lives. Some looked hassled, others simply in a hurry. There were lots of students, naturally. Harry wondered what they were all thinking as he watched them. A group of students headed into the pub opposite, all laughing and joking. Harry felt a pang.

He hadn't laughed in a while. He wondered when he'd next have anyone to laugh with.

Harry swatted the thought aside. He didn't have the luxury to feel lonely, or sorry for himself. He had chosen to do this and he was still convinced it was the right thing to do. He needed this, needed to be alone for a bit. It was helping. He hadn't thought about wizards and magic for days until he saw the flyer for the Ashmolean exhibition. If he hadn't had to fly his broom or Apparate anywhere he could have conspicuously passed as your average Muggle quite easily.

Harry finished his burger and hit the streets again. He was right - the city was stunning at night. It took his breath away a little. He felt a little dwarfed by the subdued academic power buzzing all around him. He wished he was a bit cleverer; he felt like a trespasser in this bastion of learning. He visited the gardens of Trinity and Balliol, gawped in awe at the spire of Magdalen and the spiky roof of Exeter College. He peered in through the closed doors of the Covered Market, marvelling at the structure.

This led Harry through the maze of winding, narrow streets that eventually brought him out in the square housing the jaw-droppingly impressive building that was the Radcliffe Camera. It was achingly beautiful by the subdued lighting. Harry peered in through a window. It was a large, circular building with rows and rows of books tottering to the ceiling. It would have been Hermione's version of Honeydukes. Students were busy beavering away at desks lit by lamps with green glass shades, scribbling in notepads or tapping away at laptop computers. Hermione would have slotted right in amongst them. Even from his vantage point of the window, Harry could tell that sound was scorned upon inside. There was learning to be had, noise belonged elsewhere.

Hermione would have been so at home here. Harry missed her painfully in that moment. He found himself thinking about her a lot. He knew that he shouldn't, but he found he couldn't help himself. He wondered what she was doing right about now, if she was okay. He mused absently about if Ron had gotten around to titting her up yet. Harry chuckled at the idea. The damage Ron and his caveman hands would do to poor Hermione and her dainty body! She did have nice, perky boobs, though. Harry had always thought so. They were a lovely shape that fit her frame.

Harry had to stop this train of thought immediately.

He moved away from Radcliffe Camera, through a part where signs actively forbade any noise. Harry was mindful to tiptoe through it. He looked up at yet another hugely impressive library. He felt small in its presence. He was almost on the verge of giving thanks to be allowed to bask in this strange aura all around the place. He was definitely going to spend a good deal of time in this city.

He was moving towards the Sheldon Building. The quad there was almost deserted, except for a young woman and a photographer. They were doing a shoot against the atmospheric backdrop. The pictures would be epic. Harry didn't want to intrude, so he hung back and waited. It gave him chance to drink in more of the learning power that he felt was permeating the very air.

And he allowed himself to think of Hermione again.

She would have been a queen here, a dominant force. He wondered which of the magnificent colleges she would have attended, because she would definitely have ended up somewhere like this if it weren't for Hogwarts. And just like that, Harry was back to feeling that drowning nausea again.

For what had she had instead? Seven years of toil, lugging the burden of his friendship around with her. She had never complained about that stroke of misfortune. Ron had. Plenty of times. But never Hermione. Despite all the near-death misses, the pain and hurt she had suffered at his side. Not one word of protest. Harry totally didn't deserve that. And he'd only said thank you once.

What sort of a cunt was he?

He had never been so tempted to return to the Wizarding World. To see if he could make it up to Hermione. She was worth going back for. But no, it was too soon. He wasn't ready. He'd have to do something else, something to pacify his guilt. He wondered how much of his gold it would take to bribe one of the colleges to let Hermione in. They'd all be lucky to have her. She would have gotten in on merit, obviously, but Harry knew there was more to courting the attentions of an elite college than just getting a swath of 'A Stars'. That might be a nice Christmas gift. Maybe she'd forgive his misdemeanors if he just threw enough gold at her.

What was he saying? Hermione wasn't so vacuous and materialistic. She wasn't Ginny, for fucks sake.

Harry eventually moved along. Then he discovered that when walking through an old city you need to have your wits about you. Being architecturally beautiful was all well and good, but it played havoc with the sensibilities of the modern pedestrian. Or idiots like Harry, who was wallowing in his thoughts of despair and wasn't watching his walk.

The steps leading out of the quad were shallower than Harry had expected. He tripped and fell face first onto the pavement. He heard a sickening crack in his mouth and a spear of pain shot up into his brain. Then he tasted the warm coppery flavour of blood in his mouth. A couple of passing tourists gasped as Harry fell, and hurried to help him up. He mumbled a stunted, humiliated thanks before hurrying across the street into the lane beneath the Bridge of Sighs.

Once in the darkness he assessed he damage. His tooth was shattered. The pain was incredible, a burning ache that clouded his senses. He had to get help, he couldn't go on like this. He would have to go to St Mungo's. London was close. He could make it.

He tried to Apparate but the agony was too great. He couldn't focus. He frantically hunted for his Firebolt and his Invisibility Cloak from within his bag. He would have to fly. He needed to spit out this blood. It was filling his mouth. But he didn't want to besmirch the lovely streets. He fumbled around in the dark and found a drain nearby, nearly vomiting a mouthful of plasma and tooth shards into the grate. Then he kicked off.

He hadn't been flying long when he accepted he wouldn't reach London. He was feeling dizzy and he didn't think being on the broom was a good idea. If he fell off he was done for. As much as he'd considered recently that death might be a release to his current anguish, he realised now that this wasn't what he wanted at all. He wasn't ready to die just yet. There was only one thing for it. He would have to do this the old fashioned way. The Muggle way.

He would have to find a dentist.

He descended quickly, pointing his broom towards a vast collection of lights just ahead. It looked like a large town, they'd have emergency services there. Harry landed softly, ducked down an alley and stowed his broom and cloak back into his bag. His mouth was killing him. Where the hell was he? He saw signs for the town centre and hurried along the route.

It was called Abingdon. It looked posh. Harry felt really out of place and hoped to be able to leave as quickly as possible. But needs must. Harry found what he was looking for - a telephone box. He darted inside and dialled 102. A tinny female voice answered on the other end.

"Hello, Directory Enquiries. How can I help?"

"Oh, hello," said Harry. It was weird talking on the phone. It had been ages since he'd last done it. "I'm in Abingdon Town Centre and I'm wondering if you can direct me to a hospital or all-night dentist. It's a bit of an emergency."

"Well let me see," said the operator. "Where are you in Abingdon exactly?"

Harry looked at the nearby street sign. "Kings Street. It's near the centre."

"Then you are in luck," said the operator. "If you take Kings Street right to the very end you will come to a junction. Take the left turn down Canal Way and walk for five hundred yards. There you will find the Three Pines medical centre. They have a 24-hour dentist on call. Would you like the phone number?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll find it. Thanks for your help."

And he hung up. He hurried along the street-lit road, following the directions given to him. Kings Street must have been the longest road in Abingdon. It took ages to reach the end. Harry cursed his luck. Eventually he did reach the junction and found Canal Way. A few minutes later and he was standing in the stairwell of the medical centre.

It was easy to spot. The only lit building within a row of solicitor's offices that looked like they had been converted from old town houses. Posh, affluent. Harry was a usurper here. Best get this over with before he left a stain on the place.

He opened the door, which tinkled lightly as he entered. A pleasant night receptionist smiled at him as he closed the door. She was just finishing a telephone conversation. She beckoned him over as she hung up the receiver.

"Good evening," she said. "How can we help?"

"I think I've cracked my tooth, it's really painful," Harry managed to say.

"Okay, if you'd like to take a seat the dentist should be able to see you soon. Can I take your name?"

"It's Potter," said Harry. There was no point giving one of his aliases. No-one would know him here.

"Very well, Mister Potter. If you'd like to take a seat in the waiting room someone will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," said Harry.

He slipped into the room off to the right of the reception. There were half a dozen other people in here. They looked up at the newcomer but paid him little mind. They had their own ailments to attend to. Harry waited in silence, trying not to focus on the incessant throb in his mouth. The damaged tooth was at the front. He would look wonderful with a hole there. He tried not to think about that.

Then he was startled from his worry as his name was called. He chided himself for jumping at the sound. He should have expected it. He got up sheepishly and followed the dental hygienist into the dentist's room. He had never liked the dentist. The reclining chair, the sharp, pointy implements. The Pink Drink. It wasn't his favourite of places.

But this Dentist herself seemed nice enough. She smiled warmly at him as he entered her room and sat down. She had a kindly face, dark fluffy hair. There was something about her eyes, something warming. They made him feel better, though he couldn't have rightly said why.

"Hello, Mister Potter isn't it?" said the Dentist, smiling at him again. "What seems to be the trouble this evening?"

Harry flushed, his cheeks bright. "You're going to laugh but, I tripped and face-planted the floor."

The Dentist didn't laugh. She looked concerned and eager to help. Harry went on.

"I think I've broken my tooth. It's in agony."

"Then we'd better take a look at it," said the Dentist.

"Does it matter that I'm not from around here?" Harry asked, the thought occurring to him suddenly. "I was just visiting."

"No, no, that isn't a problem. This is an NHS service. We treat anyone who comes in."

Harry sighed in relief. The Dentist noticed.

"Come along then, Mister Potter, let's have a look at the damage."

"My name's Harry, if it's easier. Mister Potter sounds really formal."

The Dentist paused for a moment and chuckled at the sudden ironic thought that occurred to her. And also at the fact that this young man was far too polite for his age. It was almost as surprising as the shy colour his words brought to his cheeks. The Dentist began to recline Harry's chair as she spoke again.

"That's funny, you know. My daughter has a friend called Harry Potter."

"She does?" asked Harry. "That is odd. What are the chances? Then again, I suppose my name is quite common, isn't it? Not like I'm called Tarquin Puddleduck or something, is it?"

The Dentist laughed at that. "I imagine you'd be quite a character with a name like that. You'd have quite the story."

Now it was Harry's turn to start. _You don't know the half of it_ , _love,_ he thought to himself. He was now prostrate on the dentist's chair. He opened his mouth and the dentist flashed a light and a mirror inside.

"Ooh, yes, you've done quite the number on yourself here," she said. "I'm afraid there is significant damage to your front incisor. It may have to come out."

Harry garbled his acquiescence.

"Other than that your teeth are in very good order," said the Dentist. "That's always good to see. Now, are you allergic to anaesthetic?"

"No, I don't think so," said Harry "I've had fillings and stuff before."

"Okay then," said the Dentist. "We'll just give you a little injection to numb you then we'll get that bothersome tooth out and close up the nerve. Sound good?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _good_ ," said Harry, grinning slightly "But if it takes the pain away I'm on board."

The Dentist smiled at him again. He liked her. She was nice. He was sure she'd be gentle and considerate when fiddling about in his mouth. And she was. Harry barely felt the pin point of the needle breaking the skin of his gum. A few minutes later and he would feel nothing at all there, although it seemed to have swollen to a gargantuan size. At least the pain was gone.

The Dentist went to work. There was some scraping, a bit of drilling and some pulling until the damaged tooth came away from Harry's head. He felt it with a shock of pressure. The hygienist gently dabbed away the blood threatening to trickle down his cheek. The Dentist did some other things to seal up the wound and before long was handing Harry gauze to stem the bleeding, returning the chair to its upright position.

"Now you keep that padding there for as long as you can," the Dentist advised. "There'll be some soreness for a few days. Maybe take some ibuprofen for that if it gets too bad. I'm sorry I couldn't save your Hollywood smile, though."

Harry grinned with his swollen lips. "That isn't your fault. Thanks so much for seeing me. You've been a life saver. Now ... could you please tell me where I pay?"

The Dentist looked oddly at him. "Didn't I mention, Mister Potter, that this is an NHS surgery? There is nothing to pay."

Harry didn't like that at all. He couldn't just walk out, not after all they'd done for him.

"That isn't right," he frowned. "I have to give you something."

"I assure you that's quite unnecessary," said the Dentist. "We have no facility for accepting payment and wouldn't anyway."

"But there must be something I can do," Harry protested somewhat desperately. "Cant I at least make a cup of tea for you both, and the nice receptionist, too? Anything? I don't like the idea of just walking out."

The Dentist laughed. "I appreciate the offer, but it's fine, really. Just as long as you're feeling better, that's enough thanks for me."

"Well, I am. Thank you very much, for everything, Dr ... er..."

Harry looked for a name badge. When he found it, he did a double take.

"Is your ... are you called _Dr Granger?"_

Harry was astonished. It couldn't be, could it? The Dentist looked at him curiously.

"It is. Can I ask why you asked in that way?"

"Oh, it's just that ... well, I have a friend, you see," said Harry. "And _she's_ called Granger ... and both her parents are dentists."

Dr Granger looked wide-eyed at the revelation.

"My husband is a dentist, too," she said quietly. "I didn't mention that."

"No. You didn't."

Harry and Dr Granger simply stared at each for a stunned moment.

"So your name is Harry Potter and you have a friend called Granger, whose parents are dentists," Dr Granger summarised, her manner brisk and business-like.

Merlin, she actually _sounded_ like her. And those eyes ... Harry thought he might know now where he'd seen them before. Dr Granger continued.

"Can I ask you where you go to school?"

Harry shifted uncertainly, bobbing on his heels. "Well, it's in Scotland. _Remote_ Scotland. And it's a sort of ...er ... _special_ school."

Dr Granger was floored. "Can I ask ... this seems to be the most unlikely of coincidences ... but do you know my daughter ... my _Hermione_?"

Harry smiled at the mention of her name. It wasn't unnoticed by Dr Granger, nor the warm look it gave to his eyes.

"Yes, I know her," Harry grinned. "I'm lucky to be able to say that I know her very, very well."

Dr Granger gasped. Then she beamed at Harry. "Well ... my, my! What a turn up for the books! Never in a million would I have imagined _this_ for my night shift! I feel like I have so much to ask you. Hermione talked about you very much. It was almost as if each Christmas and Summer holiday was little more than a retelling of all you have been through that term. I feel like I practically know you."

Harry guffawed. "I'm used to that. Surprised that I'd find it in - _hem -_ this world, though." Harry cleared his throat nervously. "How ... how is Hermione? Well, I hope."

Dr Granger looked curiously at him, as though x-raying him. "She's fine, thank you for asking. A bit more down than I'd like to see her, but after what happened to you all ... I would ask how _you_ are coping, but I don't want to pry."

Harry felt his stomach lurch at the question. Hermione's mother, showing concern for him? That was more than he was owed. He was selfish for accepting the interest.

"I'm doing alright, thank you," Harry mumbled. "I'm taking some time away from things. Trying to get my head on straight."

"That's sensible," said Dr Granger, nodding sagely. She seemed to weigh up her next question carefully. "This is going to sound awfully forward ... but Hermione's father and I have heard so much about you. He'd never let me forget it if I passed up the chance for him to meet you. If you are in the area, and have no other plans, would you do us the pleasure of joining us for breakfast tomorrow? Nothing formal or fancy, just a cuppa and a biscuit. You don't have to if you would be uncomfortable."

Harry thought on it a moment. "Will Hermione be there?"

He wasn't really sure what he wanted the answer to be to this one.

"No, she's up in London buying her school things this weekend. She's returning for the year, but you probably know that."

He didn't, but he smiled at the thought. Hermione wouldn't accept that crappy excuse for a qualification the Ministry had offered to him and Ron. He felt ashamed that was going to. He was unworthy of her.

"So, breakfast," Dr Granger pressed. "Will you come?"

Harry thought again. He found he wasn't against the idea at all. "I'd be happy to. When shall I come?"

"About eight or nine?"

"Can we make it ten or eleven?" Harry grinned. "I'm afraid I'm enjoying my lazy mornings a bit too much to give them up!"

Dr Granger laughed again. "Any time that's good for you is good for us. I look forward to seeing you. Do you know our address?"

"Oh ... er, no. I never needed to write it. Owls cant read, after all."

Dr Granger grinned warmly at him. "Here, let me write it down. David - Hermione's father - will be ever so thrilled when I tell him."

"He will?" Harry asked curiously. "Can I ask why?"

"Oh, nothing to be afraid of," Dr Granger smiled warmly. "He just wanted to get the measure of our Hermione's best friend, that's all. See if you measured up to his standards!"

"No pressure then," Harry grinned. "Goodbye, Dr Granger. Thanks for everything. I look forward to tomorrow."

And Harry left, thinking this had been a most bizarre day.

* * *

Hermione was running through the house, she was being chased. He was following her, was really close now. Her heart was flapping wildly and she tried hard not to giggle as she fell against the dresser on the landing. She was loving the chase and couldn't _wait_ to be caught. She squeezed her legs together at the thought, as though to try and quell the urging throb between them.

Then he was mounting the stairs, two at a time. He was going to get her.

Hermione squeaked and jumped up, the giggle finally escaping her throat. She tried to escape, but he was an athlete, too quick for her. And then he was upon her, pinning her bodily against the wall and thrusting his body against hers. She gave a keening sound that may have been a purr, an animalistic groan she was only just getting used to making.

And her lover was driven wild by it.

His hands were all over her, tearing at her shirt, _his_ old Quidditch shirt that she was wearing. It was all she was wearing. It came down past her waist, but her legs were naked, white and pale in the shaft of moonlight flooding in through the open window. She brought one up and crooked it around his hip as he fiddled with her buttons, divesting her. Then his lips were kissing, nibbling, biting at her neck beneath her hair. She was going crazy, so light-headed she could barely stand. She threw her head back for better access as his hands slid up her now-bare stomach.

The bedroom was so close. A few feet and a hundred miles away. It was too far. He would have to take her here, now, against this wall. She could stand it no longer.

She snaked her hand up his back, questing for his hair. She took a fistful of his smooth locks and tugged his head back. She wanted to look into his eyes, to communicate the desire that was burning so fiercely inside of her. She wanted him to see, _to know_ she was his. She pulled hard.

And Harry looked back at her, hungrily and wantonly.

Hermione jerked awake, writhing on her bed and panting raggedly for just one clean breath of air. Her nightie was soaked in sweat, her bedsheets too. She noticed one hand down the front of her knickers. She squeezed her thighs around it, letting the images of the dream flood her mind to finish her off. Waves of pleasure swept hot and senseless through her, and she rode the tide. Her free hand grabbed the corner of her pillow so tight it left a dent there and she bit her lip hard to stifle the moan fighting to escape her chest. Then she let out a long, contented sigh and allowed herself to relax into her mattress.

Then the guilt came.

She'd had another one of _those dreams ..._ about _Harry_. She seemed powerless to stop them. This one had been more intense than the last few. She could almost _taste_ his kisses, hot against her throat. She shivered wildly beneath her damp sheets. She was almost used to this now, waking up covered in the sweats of passion. She'd even stopped being shocked that dreams of Harry had been what caused it.

Because he was in them _every time_.

She dearly wished that he wasn't, that she could somehow block him from her mind. But she had no control over it. Every time she had one of _those_ dreams he appeared in it. More often than not he had to displace Ron in some way first. This made Hermione feel terrific guilt, even in her dream. Until Harry touched her. Until he kissed her and tasted her. Then she forget Ron completely, or else wished he hadn't been in the way in the first place.

And she felt so dreadful over this that it often took a few days to get over it.

But this dream was different. It had been just Harry from the start and Hermione felt naughtily exhilarated by that. As though it were different, a little less guilt-inducing. And so much more intense for the being so. She quietly hoped that all the future dreams she had, for she was sure there would be more, would be like that. It was so much better this way. She could allow herself to enjoy the indulgence.

For that's all it was. Harry was gone. He might not be coming back. And these lingering, new sensations she was forming for him would never have to be dealt with in the cold light of day.

Of course, Hermione was sensible of the fact that she was practically cheating on Ron with her fantasies. He didn't deserve that, but Hermione decided he didn't really need to know. If Harry wasn't going to come back for months or years what did it really matter? What harm could be done? Ron needn't be upset by Hermione's cerebral philandering, if that's all it was. Besides, Hermione might have gotten _this_ , whatever it was, out of her system by then. If Harry returned at all. And even if he did, it still wouldn't matter. Harry had never shown any of _that_ sort of interest in her before, so why should she expect that to change, just because her feelings had started to? Or definitely had, no matter how much she tried to convince herself to the contrary.

She was with Ron, she was going to stay with him, make it work somehow. She'd made her mind up on that. She'd decided she could be content in a life with him. She'd have a career and her causes, and then they'd probably have a family and she'd have a project on her hands to prove her parents wrong. For that matter, she'd have a project convincing her parents to even _see_ their grandchildren. To let wizards into their home. They were still quite adamant she was the only source of magic that they'd ever permit across their threshold. She would make them see sense, and they'd accept it in the end. And she would be happy enough.

She just wished she could forget Harry's kiss. It put such a spanner into her great laid plans.

She could still feel it, tingling across her skin. Or was that just the lingering remnants of her dream? Both sensations were eerily similar. She hadn't washed her face for days after it, didn't want to soap away the spot where his lips had trembled against her cheek. For she was sure they trembled. She entertained wild thoughts when she pondered why. But she quickly subdued them. She wasn't allowed to dwell on that during the daytime.

It was a strictly night time activity.

She'd woken early. Dawn light was only just peeking over the horizon. Hermione got up and splashed some water over her face. Her skin was hot, the water wonderfully cooling. She looked out along the street. Diagon Alley was odd when viewed at this time of the morning. Weirdly still. It would be a few hours before she could go downstairs yet because the Leaky Cauldron was still asleep, and that's where she was staying.

Ron was coming to London today. His last letter had been full of excitement about it. Hermione was going to treat him to a new Chudley Cannon's Quidditch Robe. She'd already been to Quality Quidditch Supplies to reserve it. He'd be so thrilled when he saw it, she knew that. It was a going away gift, something to remember her by when she returned to belatedly do her final year at Hogwarts in a few days.

She had pleaded with him to return, too. Tried to employ all her feminine wiles to convince him. She had even suggested he could be Head Boy to compliment her as Head Girl, though she omitted the snagging detail that he'd be taking Harry's rightful role once again. She thought of the alone time they could have together, hoping maybe it might renew the affection she'd lost for him and was struggling to force back.

The notion had the opposite effect on Ron. He was already inordinately pleased that he was going to receive a Magical Diploma with straight Outstanding Grades on all his N.E.W.T's just for his role in defeating Voldemort. By his logic, why return to the school and risk losing that? Hermione sadly had to agree with his assertion. And when she mentioned becoming Head Boy he turned a distinct shade of grey. Go back, lose your top grades _and_ have to have some responsibility. Hermione might as well have offered him the Ebola virus and cancer in exchange for the cure for a runny nose.

So she would be returning to Hogwarts alone and wouldn't see Ron until Christmas. She was torn at the situation. She desperately wanted to work at the cracks in the relationship, which were, admittedly, of her own making and that Ron was blissfully ignorant of. He hadn't the faintest clue that Hermione was in something of a state of emotional and mental turmoil. He never was the best at gauging her moods. Harry was the infinitely more proficient in that area.

_Stop thinking about Harry!_

Hermione had to keep mentally slapping herself like this. It was the root cause of her turmoil and only through strong mental punishment could she control it and stop the ideas running away with her. She lived in constant dread that one day they might inopportunely slip out with the wrong person listening. Namely Ron. Even he wouldn't miss that if it did.

So she was actively trying to throw herself into the relationship, be a model girlfriend. By the book, her style, if you will. She would shower Ron with over-the-top-affection, write him letters daily, buy him things, treat him, even if it cost herself (she'd bought all her seventh year textbooks second-hand yesterday to afford the Quidditch robe), not give Harry or ideas about him any time, any avenue into her conscious thought.

Until the night, when she couldn't resist, and he stole into her steamy dreams and loved her breathless.

She could just about cope with that. But term time would be different. She could still write to Ron, of course, but he wouldn't be around to be on her mind, or to provide a barrier to stop her thoughts drifting to Harry. She was fearful of this, hoping that distance wouldn't open a insurmountable chasm between them. She was almost as fearful of that as she was of spending the next year with no friends to talk to, as she was dropping back a year. Ginny would be there, but Hermione really couldn't stomach the idea of buddying up to her all year. All in all, she felt she'd probably be as isolated and solitary as Harry was.

She was doing it again, thinking about him. Why couldn't she have _any_ train of thought that didn't eventually pull in at Station Potter? She had to clear it out of her system. She had developed a mental checklist for it. She sighed and started making her way through it.

Where was he? She hoped it was somewhere sunny, he needed some colour in his complexion. What was he doing? Could be anything, depending where he was, of course. Maybe he was in the shower, all wet and soapy. _Hermione Jane Granger! Stop that at once!_ What was he thinking? Was he missing her? She really hoped so. He might come home soon if he was. He'd been gone too long already.

How much longer could she keep doing this? To herself, to poor Ron? He really didn't deserve this. Whether he knew what was going on or not. He was sweet and caring. He deserved someone who would return that honestly. Hermione couldn't legitimately say that she did anymore. No matter how hard she was trying. But she also didn't want to break his heart, and she was fairly confident it would shatter if she confessed to him. She didn't think she could take that, neither of them could, even if the reasons were different.

And there was the other, more selfishly cogent reason for staying together. Hermione didn't want to be alone. If she could hold her tongue and her guilt, maybe it would be okay. Ron would be there for her, doing his best, even if she wasn't wholly fulfilled. There was something to be said for that. And he would be none the wiser. With the uncertainty surrounding her parents, Hermione couldn't be entirely sure that if she broke it off with Ron she would have anyone to turn to in any of her worlds. She was strong and stubborn, but maybe not to that extent.

She wasn't Harry.

And she was back onto him again. She sighed at herself. That had to be the last one for today. Ron would be arriving soon. Hermione had to get herself ready, and the outfit she had to chose was the least of her worries.

The mask she had to wear was infinitely more important.


	5. Parental Guidance Recommended

The cul-de-sac of red-brick houses was very warm and welcoming. A couple of children were zooming about on bicycles that still had their stabilisers on, one lady was trimming the rough bits from her hedge whilst sharing a cup of tea with her elderly neighbours, who were sat in deckchairs enjoying the early morning sunshine. It looked set to be another fine day in Abingdon and the residents of Quicksilver Close seemed determined to enjoy it.

It was a funky sort of name for a street, Harry thought as he rounded the corner into it. It seemed to be part of a theme, with Copper Street and Antimony Place other parts of his route on the way. He wasn't sure why he had come at all. It seemed an odd thing to do now he was actually embarking on it. But he felt sort of compelled, there was a curiosity he couldn't stem.

He wanted to see the place where Hermione had grown up.

The residents all clocked him as he entered the cul-de-sac. He was a a stranger here. Even the milkman and postie were on a first-name basis with most of them. This young man was a new addition, a curiosity, and Harry felt all eyes follow him to see where he would go. He looked hastily for Number 12. It was the furthest house away. Typical. He would have to endure the stares for a good few moments yet. He straightened his aviators and strode across the road.

He moved along the path of Number 12's garden. It was neatly kept. He supposed it had to be, with so many local critics to appease. Harry rang the doorbell. He wasn't sure what he expected from this breakfast meeting. Or what had driven him to accept it. He had given serious thought to not coming at all. It would have been rude, but if he never saw Hermione again she wouldn't be able to tell him off for standing her parents up. That ultimately made up his mind.

He fully intended to see Hermione again and he didn't want her to be cross with him when he did.

So here he was, in the Sunday morning sun, waiting on her parent's doorstep. He had arrived early. At least, earlier than he'd said. It was nine o'clock or thereabouts. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that didn't want to make a bad impression on the Grangers. Harry rather fancied that it spoke in Hermione's accent. So he decided to make the effort and hopefully get things off to a good start.

The door opened. Mrs Granger stood there, looking slightly bemused. "Why, Harry! Hello! You're earlier than we expected."

"I'm sorry, if its not a good time ... I can come back ..."

"No, no, forgive me, I didn't mean it like that," said Mrs Granger. "I took you at your word last night that you weren't an early riser. Clearly you were having me on."

"I promise I wasn't," said Harry, eager to impress his honesty on Hermione's mum. "This is early for me."

Catrin Granger looked at Harry warmly. "Then we should consider ourselves privileged."

Harry shifted coyly. "I wouldn't go that far, Mrs Granger."

"Oh, please, call me Catrin. And wont you come in? Where are my manners?"

Harry stepped over the threshold. "Should I take my shoes off?"

"No, dear, there's no need. David and I aren't so fussy," said Catrin waving her hand. She smiled, as though she was pleased that Harry had made the offer, even if it wasn't the trend in their house.

Catrin led the way through the house. It had a homely feel. It was warm and welcoming, not nearly as surgically pristine as the Dursleys house in Privet Drive, nor as haphazard and chaotic as The Burrow. It was a home, designed for the purpose. There were pictures and plants, order and a little bit of jumble. As there should be. Harry found his eyes lingering on pictures of Hermione a bit longer than he knew they ought. He missed her face, her eyes and smile. He jerked himself back to the house and its aura. He liked it. Even the aroma, coffee and baking from the kitchen, was inviting. This was a place where you were allowed to _live normally_ , it wasn't frowned upon.

For the first time in ages, Harry felt it was the sort of place even _he_ might be allowed to.

He shrugged off the sensation, as though it were a coat that he'd forgotten how to make fit. Catrin led the way into the kitchen, but she didn't stop there. She opened a patio door and led Harry into a pretty little conservatory. It was circular, offered a good view of the back garden, which was much more of a wilderness than the front, and was wonderfully warm from the early morning sunlight. Harry felt himself grin as he entered it.

There was a large table dominating the space. Nothing fancy and elaborate, just a simple pine affair with four chairs tucked close to it. Two were empty, waiting for Harry and Catrin. The other was taken up by a man Harry knew to be Hermione's father. He had seen him from a distance several times at Kings Cross. He had thinning hair, but what little was left was identical to Hermione's tawny brown. He was peering over rimless spectacles at the morning paper. He looked up as Harry and Catrin entered, but before he could speak Harry was enveloped by the occupant of the other chair in the conservatory.

Harry saw it only as a ball of ginger flying in his direction. He recoiled defensively, but relaxed and grinned when he settled, despite the claws digging into him. He clutched the cat affectionately.

"Hello, Crookshanks," said Harry. He was oddly pleased to see Hermione's familiar. His face was still as squashed as ever and he was sure his walk would be just as bandy. Harry was surprised, but he scratched Crookshanks behind his ear as the cat began to purr.

"That creature actually _likes_ you," said David Granger. He sounded genuinely surprised. "That is a good start ... I think."

Holding Crookshanks spared Harry the formality of shaking David's hand, so he offered him a slightly timid grin in its place.

"Crookshanks and I have always got on pretty well," said Harry. "Once you get passed appearances he's not so bad. Maybe we're kindred spirits that way."

Harry had meant the comment lightly, but it betrayed his world-weariness. He wished it hadn't. He wasn't here for sympathy. And Catrin was _totally_ looking at him like that.

"Take a seat, Harry," said Catrin. "Now, are you a tea or coffee sort of person?"

"Oh, coffee all the way," said Harry. He sat down. Crookshanks padded around before settling in Harry's lap, his weight and warmth a very real sensation.

"Milk?"

"Yes, please."

"How about sugar?"

"Am I allowed? You are dentists, after all."

David and Catrin both chuckled.

"A little sugar is fine," said David. "As long as you aren't eating it by the cube."

"Two please, then, Mrs Granger," said Harry.

"You can call me Catrin. I wont bite if you do."

"I'm not sure that would be right," said Harry. "We've only just met and I'm a guest in your home."

David looked at Harry, studied him even. Harry wasn't sure what it was in his look, but it relaxed him. He felt more at ease. The look might have been _approval_. Harry was buoyed. It had started positively.

David folded his newspaper. He still hadn't taken his eyes off Harry. It was like he was sizing him up, appraising him, but he didn't give the impression that he was predisposed to think badly of Harry. For some reason, Harry thought he might have been. After all, if Hermione had told them all about him they must be at least a little cautious of him. They might even be angry.

He had put their little girl into mortal peril after all.

But this wasn't the notion Harry was getting. There seemed to be genuine interest. Just in him. Not his name or his scar or his story. Just him, and how he fit into their daughter's life. It was curiosity and he felt it too, for these people who had produced and raised his best friend in the world. They were fascinating enough for this feat alone.

David turned to him fully now. "So, Harry, first questions first I suppose - how are you feeling today? Catrin said you had quite the nasty fall."

"Oh, I'm much better thank you, Mr Granger," said Harry. "Mrs Granger did a great job. I didn't feel a thing and it's just a little sore this morning. But it's nothing, really."

"I'm glad to hear it," said David. "Catrin is very good at delicate work like that. Much better than I am."

"Don't you believe a word of it, Harry," said Catrin coming in and setting a mug of coffee down in front of him. "David is perfectly considerate in his work. He's not as _good_ as me, but he's a willing second."

Catrin winked at her husband, who took her gentle ribbing in good humour.

"So, Harry," said David. "How did you come to end up in our surgery last night anyway? I would ask if you were a bit far from home, but I cant recall Hermione saying where your _home_ actually was."

Harry tensed and readjusted Crookshanks on his lap. "To be honest, sir, I don't really have a home."

Catrin felt her heart pinch at the words.

"My aunt and uncle, who I lived with till I was eleven, have a house in Surrey," Harry continued. "But I wouldn't ever call _that place_ my home. I wont go there ever again. Hogwarts was more of a home to me, but at the end of the day it's just a boarding school. I couldn't stay there forever, either. I suppose that's part of the reason I left. I don't feel like I belong at any of the places I've lived so far, so I'm trying to find somewhere new."

"That must be one hell of a daunting task," said David. "Especially for a young man who's been through what you have."

Harry shrugged. "It's just what I have to do. And I've dragged my friends through enough already. They don't need to put their lives on hold any more, waiting for me to find myself. It's easier to be on my own."

"So you're just moving from place to place?" asked Catrin.

"Pretty much," said Harry. "Just sort of following the sun. Being able to Apparate - which is essentially teleporting - I can get to where I want to go instantly. So if it gets cloudy in one place I can just check the weather forecast and hop over to somewhere else."

"Now that _would_ be handy!" said David.

Harry grinned. "Yes, sir. I spent much of last year hiding in a tent. I thought it was high time I got some colour back in my skin. Yesterday, Oxford was one of the warmest places in the country, so I went there."

"Ah Oxford, it's such a beautiful city, isn't it?" said Catrin. "We always hoped that ... well, we would have liked Hermione to have gone to one of the great universities, before Hogwarts came up. It would have made us so proud."

"And she would have so fitted in there," said Harry. "And done brilliantly too. I wouldn't have, though. I couldn't even walk around the place properly. That's how I broke my tooth, falling over like a fool!"

Harry flushed with the shame of it, but joined in when the Grangers sympathetically giggled at his story. After all, it was a slapstick moment.

"It must have been a bit weird for you, finding out Hermione was a witch."

"It was never anything we could have expected," said David. "Magic was just something in fairy tales before then. When odd things happened around her we just put it down to ... well, I cant exactly remember what we thought at the time. Her being a _witch_ would certainly been at the bottom of the list."

"What was it like for you?" asked Catrin. "When you found out about yourself?"

"I didn't believe it at first," said Harry. "I suppose I just thought of silly things to explain weird stuff that happened to me. When I was told I was a wizard, I thought it was all a big mistake. Until I saw magic being done. Then I just sort of accepted it. When I went off to Hogwarts I didn't even think of it as weird, but I didn't have a chance too. Everyone knew who I was, knew my story. I didn't. I had to learn that as well as learning about magic in my lessons. Hermione was a great help there. I don't think I could have managed all my classes without her."

Catrin smiled at him. "Hermione always did love school work. I can imagine her wanting to do everyone else's as well!"

Harry sipped his coffee, still idly stroking Crookshanks with his free hand. "This is very nice, Mrs Granger. Thank you."

"You really needn't be so formal, Harry," said Catrin. "You aren't on trial here."

That was an odd thing to say. Harry hadn't considered that the reason for his invitation. He felt a little more under scrutiny than before.

"I'm just trying to be polite," Harry explained. "If Hermione heard I was anything but she'd turn my insides out!"

Catrin laughed again. Harry liked it when she did. It was a nice sound. He liked causing it.

"I wonder what she'll say when she knows you're here," said David. "What a surprise it will be."

Harry froze. He didn't understand his response, but he tensed. He turned to Catrin."I thought you said she was in London?"

"Oh ... she is," said Catrin, taken aback by Harry's sudden unease. "We assumed you might stay around to see her before you left. She's due back this evening."

Harry breathed, relief flooded him. Hermione wasn't here. For some reason the idea of seeing her worried him. He felt nervous at the prospect. That was weird. He'd have to think about why later.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't intrude on you for that long," he replied. He clocked the quizzical looks on the Granger's faces, understanding dawning. "It's not that I don't want to see her. It's just that I've cut myself off from that world for a while. I'm just not sure I'm ready to go back to it yet. Any of it."

The Grangers seemed satisfied with the response.

"Hermione told us what happened," said David. "It must have been quite the ordeal."

He was fishing for an explanation, for Harry to tell his story. Oddly, Harry didn't feel as resistant to it as he had on the night he left Hogwarts.

"It's not something I'd be in a hurry to repeat, let's just say that," said Harry quietly.

"Hermione was ever so upset when she came home," said Catrin. "I've never seen her so worried. I don't think she slept or ate properly for three days."

Harry's insides churned. He'd left Hermione, left everyone. Had he hurt them by doing so? It didn't feel like that at the time. It had been for the best. Or so he'd thought. He hadn't considered how his exile might affect those closest to him. Those people who _actually_ cared for him, not just those who blindly idolized him. Turns out he couldn't even do noble acts right. Even these had to be tainted with selfishness.

Even his response to this news was selfish. To hear that Hermione cared about him that much, to be so affected by his leaving...it stirred something in him. It was strange and it was sweet, and even though he was firm in the belief that he didn't deserve any affection of the kind, he thought he might like to know a little more about it. Maybe a lot more.

Suddenly, it was as if that locked-up part of his heart might still have a use after all. What a pity he'd thrown away the key to it.

The realisation brought his meekness back, because he'd been on the verge of smiling. "I'm really sorry about that," said Harry, his voice tiny. "Will you tell her for me?"

Catrin looked at him so gently he felt the need to look away. "She might prefer to hear it from you."

A dark thought hit Harry. It crammed cement into the lock of that infernal door in his chest. All his initial resolution was proved right at a stroke. He voiced it in his reply.

"I doubt it. If I upset her that much, she probably hates me. I would."

Of course she did. She must. He'd upset Hermione. He'd made her cry. Cost her sleep and her appetite. Then had the presumption to think this was okay, because it just proved she cared for him, gave a shit about him. Harry didn't do this, especially not to her. This wasn't an Act of Harry...it was an Act of Ron.

And Harry hated himself even more with the revelation. And to think what he'd almost allowed himself to think...

Catrin wasn't oblivious to the sudden tumult in Harry's mind. His eyes were loaded with it. And far from agreeing with it, Catrin found it warmed her heart. She could see immediately why Hermione was so taken with Harry, even if she didn't let herself be. He was polite and sweet, and fiercely caring. Especially about her, it would seem.

But he was also wounded, fragile, prone to bouts of deep self loathing and despair that could strike at any moment. That was wholly reasonable to her, considering what he'd been through. She understood perfectly and felt immense concern for him. She didn't know him well enough to help or offer comfort, and knew he didn't trust her enough to accept it.

She wished Hermione would walk through the door to soothe Harry's plagued mind, because she felt certain that she'd be able to. She had to be gentle with him.

"Hate wasn't the impression I got," she said softly. "Just deep concern. You must be very important to her."

Harry tried to ignore the words. He didn't want to think they were true. It might make things worse. But he couldn't make amends with her, not right now. What he could do was to make her mother see he was sorry. He didn't think he could bear _everyone_ in the world thinking badly of him.

"She's very important to _me_ , that's all I know," he said. "She's wonderful. People see her mostly for her academics, how clever she is. I don't suppose I need to tell you about that. But I know there's so much more to her than just books and cleverness. She's my best friend. I couldn't have asked for a better one. I don't deserve it."

"I'm sure you do," said Catrin gently. "Hermione certainly thinks so. She didn't have many friends before Hogwarts. In fact, I don't think she had any. Other kids were a little scared of how smart she was, or resented her for it. It was probably the same at Hogwarts.

"She never talked about anyone she knew at school before then. But during that first Christmas holiday at Hogwarts all we heard about was this new friend she'd made and all the things he'd done. I'd never seen her so excited about anything other than books and homework."

"It was the same that Summer," David added. "And every holiday after that. A blow by blow account of the adventures and trials of that poor boy."

"Our little girl, normally so isolated and solitary had made a best friend at last. And we've wanted to meet you ever since."

Harry was blushing so much his face might have caught fire. He had no idea about any of this. He felt so _utterly_ humble at the story. A fierce rush of affection for Hermione rose in his chest. It was so powerful that it made him light-headed a moment. It took his self-loathing beast in its massive arms and kicked it right in the bollocks.

"I don't know what to say to that. I never knew," said Harry. He almost whispered the words.

Catrin smiled back at him. Harry's grin told her everything she wanted to know about him.

"We didn't really hear about Mister Weasley until your second year," said David. There was something firm in his tone that Harry didn't really understand. "Hermione told us we'd be meeting that family when we went to buy her school supplies for the year."

Comprehension raced to Harry's mind. The first time the Grangers had met the Weasleys, Arthur physically assaulted Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts. Harry felt shame on Arthur's behalf, and on Hermione's. That fucking hooligan was likely to become her father-in-law. He looked at The Grangers - they didn't seem to like the idea much themselves. It seemed a fresh injury.

"Have ... have you met the Weasleys since?" Harry asked cautiously. "Since Hermione's started seeing Ron?"

"Oh yes," said David darkly. "Let's just say they left an impression."

"I prefer to call it a bad taste," said Catrin. She seemed mortified a moment. "Oh...forgive me, Harry. I know Ron's your friend too. I don't mean to sound so harsh."

"Do you mind me asking what happened?" asked Harry. "Was it bad?"

"We'd rather forget most of it," said David. "It just reminds us that Hermione may marry into that family. And I genuinely die a little inside at that notion. Can you answer me something, though?"

"I'll try."

"Do all wizards hate, what is it you call us ... _Muggles_?"

Harry thought he could understand what might have happened. The details were just window dressing.

"There is a bit of a superiority complex there unfortunately," said Harry. "Its mostly from older families. Ones that call themselves Purebloods. They are so used to magic in their families they see non-Magic people as a bit quaint. They view Muggleborn witches and wizards kind of like how people who have always been rich might welcome a working-class lottery winner into the country club."

Catrin looked shocked at Harry. It was such an accurate comparison. She thought maybe she shouldn't have been angry at the Weasleys. Maybe they should pity them for their ignorance.

"It's all rubbish anyway," Harry went on. "All the Pureblood, Half-Blood, Muggleborn nonsense. I'm half-blood - my mum was a Muggleborn witch and my Dad from a Pureblood family. Hermione's a Muggleborn, too. And she's the most powerful person I know. By a million miles. She's ten times the witch to my wizard. More probably."

Harry baulked. He was getting used to Hermione's mum smiling warmly at him. But to see _her father_ copy the expression ... well, Harry couldn't rightly articulate what he thought about that.

"It must have been difficult without your parents," said Catrin sadly. She felt genuinely sorry for this boy. He was so sweet and likeable. How could he have had such a hard run of things and still come out of it such a pleasant young man? Oh, Hermione... _if only._..

"Hermione mentioned you had a tough upbringing with your Aunt and Uncle," David added.

Harry sighed heavily. "And that's only from what little she knows. I've never told her everything .. .I've never told anyone _everything_. I doubt I ever will. Those wounds run pretty deep."

Catrin could see the pain these recollections were costing Harry. She wanted to veer the conversation away from them. She'd like to see his face light up again, especially when he got to talk about her daughter. It thrilled her to see it.

"Do you know Hermione is going to be made Head Girl when she returns to Hogwarts? She's ever so excited about it."

"Head Girl? Wow!" said Harry warmly. He was so pleased for her. "Not that I'm too surprised. She was always a shoo-in for it."

"Have you thought about returning to school?" asked David.

"I've _thought_ about it," said Harry. "But I've been offered an Honorary Diploma. It isn't the same, I know ... but I just don't think I have the heart for studying. Not after ... everything."

"That's understandable, but you are still so young," said Catrin. "You have plenty of time to change your mind. I bet you'd be a dead cert for Head Boy if you ever did, a man of your standing."

Harry grinned, but the thought set off something odd in him. He was supposed to have been a Prefect once, before that old twat Dumbledore pulled a dirty switch on him and gave it to Ron. It was his by right, Harry had always been bitter about that. So maybe he would have been made Head Boy as a sort of recompense. He thought he might have quite liked that, especially if Hermione had been Head Girl.

And now she was going to be, only he wasn't there to partner her. It meant someone else would be her Head Boy. Someone would be taking his place at Hermione's side yet again. Harry felt a caustic resentment towards this faceless fucktard bell-end, whoever he might be. And also a tidal wave of jealousy. Harry had to snap out of it. He wasn't allowed to feel this.

For it was coming dangerously close to something like ... _regret_.

It was time to leave. Harry felt it now. It was the right moment.

"I think I'm going to make a move now," said Harry. He dislodged Crookshanks, who was reluctant to go, and dropped him into the chair he vacated. "Thanks for the coffee. And the chat. I feel a bit better for things. Thank you."

"No, thank you," said Catrin. "Not just for today, but for bringing a smile to my little girl's face. There isn't a value I can place on that."

David Granger stood up. He offered Harry his hand and shook it warmly. "I sincerely hope this isn't the last time we meet, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled back at them both. "I hope not either. You will pass on my message to Hermione? Tell her I'm sorry...for everything. I'll make it up to her one day. Somehow."

Catrin wanted to hug him. Wanted _Hermione_ to be hugging him, all the time. Instead of that other boy. _You-Know-Who_ , she and David had taken to calling him. She'd like Harry to stay a little longer, chat a bit more. But he was intense in his look. He was like Hermione once their minds were set. She walked him to the door.

"Goodbye, Harry. You take care of yourself."

Harry looked shyly at her. "Thank you...Catrin. I will."

And with that he turned and walked down the path. Catrin watched until he was out of sight. She frowned. She would have to have a _serious_ talk with her daughter when she got home.

* * *

Hermione was exhausted, weighed down with armfuls of bags from Diagon Alley. She could have just magicked them home, but she'd given her mum a hell of a fright doing that once. And with her parents' attitude to magic bordering on that of the mediaeval witch trials at the moment she thought it best not to push her luck. So she was doing things the old fashioned way.

And it was killing her in this heat.

It was nearly seven o'clock, but it was still sunny, the air dry and dusty. In her multitude of bags, Hermione hadn't considered a drink a good purchase. Spellbooks, a new set of robes, top-ups of her dwindling potion ingredients...but not a drop of water in sight. She couldn't wait to get in.

It had been such a long day. She half wished she hadn't gotten up so early, but then she remembered what had woken her. There were worse ways to start the day. She flushed at the memory, not that it would have shown. Her cheeks were already red and puffy from her borderline dehydration.

Then she had met up with Ron. They'd had quite a nice afternoon. Hermione felt cheered by it. He'd been over the moon about his new Quidditch Robe. He wanted to put it on right there, but Hermione refused to permit that. But it didn't dampen his high spirits. He was already in a good mood anyway after receiving some positive news that morning.

He'd been accepted into the Auror Training Academy. Hermione never told him, but she was skeptical about his chances of being accepted for enrolment. She doubted he would pass the required tests. She needn't have worried.

He had the ever-playable Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card that was his connection to Harry.

"They didn't even do the tests," Ron explained over lunch, his mouth full of steak and kidney pudding. Gravy was trickling down his chin. "As soon as I said who I was they signed me right up. Not exactly gonna turn down the right-hand man of Harry Potter are they? The acceptance invite was just a formality, really. I'd write Harry a thank you note...if he ever turns up again."

This was what _really_ irked Hermione. Ron's attitude to Harry's leaving. He'd been concerned at first. Not upset though. That got to Hermione from the word go. Molly had been beside herself. It was the proper reaction. The others ranged from incredulous to downright baffled. They all wanted to know why. Hermione resented them for not knowing, for not even trying to understand.

_Maybe if they'd looked after him properly like I told them to they'd know. Maybe he'd still be here..._

Hermione tried not to be too harsh, too bitter with the Weasleys. But less and less could she find justification for her concern over them. Harry was too important to be neglected. And hadn't he suffered enough neglect in his life? She shouldered her own portion of the blame for this. She wasn't stubborn enough to pass off all the failed responsibility. She could have done more. She should have. She knew that all too well. She may have had a legitimate excuse, but that had never stopped her before. Not where Harry was concerned. If she'd known how much turmoil he was in, how bad a way he was suffering, she would have put everything else on hold to help him.

Even her parents could have waited.

But they'd waited long enough for her tonight. She was already an hour late. Lunch had gone on a bit longer that it should have. The reason was the main thing that bothered Hermione over Ron's approach to Harry's exile. The attention it got him. If Hermione didn't know Ron better, she'd say he was _enjoying_ it. Revelling in it, even.

Because Harry Potter's disappearance from the wizarding world was the hot topic of the day. It made headline news. Of course it did, it was Harry. And he'd just run off without a word to anyone. Well, _almost_ anyone. Hermione couldn't help but feel a touch of covetous pride that he'd waited for _her_ before leaving, now matter how much it broke her heart to see him go. Harry had wanted to see her, and only her, one last time.

She wished she'd had managed the words to ask him why. Though that was the end of her musings. She'd never gotten as far as his response, his reasons. Those thoughts bordered on the illicit, she'd daren't go near them.

Ron was making up his own theories on the subject, and Hermione was convinced they were wildly inaccurate. In his mind, Hermione had caught up to Harry by chance, and his reasons for leaving were incomprehensible to him. There was even a touch of resentment there. Harry should, according to Ron, be here, enjoying the victory, basking in the adoration. He'd earned it, and they'd earned it. Ron felt Harry was doing _him_ a disservice by not being around to be the centre of attention, denying Ron his usual slice of it as his sidekick. After all they'd been through in the fight against Voldemort, Ron felt Harry owed him a bit of this.

Not that Ron was likely to make that trade now. For in Harry's absence, the Wizarding World had begun to look to secondary sources for information and speculation. And his two closest friends were the obvious place to start. Hermione had shot the reporters down straight away. Harry wanted privacy and solitude, she wasn't about to set the _Daily Prophet_ on his tail.

But Ron had taken a slightly different tack. He wasn't used to being the focus of attention, but was clearly taking a liking to it. He was using Harry's AWOL status to push his own star front and centre. It made Hermione livid to see it. Ron would sit through interviews not so much as concerned friend, but as the inside man to the Wizarding World's biggest celebrity, indulging in debate and speculation as to where he was and what he might be doing. These ranged from Harry hunting down rogue Death Eaters as a sort of vigilante, to him hiding away somewhere to write his life story.

And Ron always emphasised and embellished his involvement in all of them, even going as far as to suggest he was in secret communication with Harry. The reporters loved it, and the stories kept coming.

As did the interest in Ron, increasingly from other girls. He bathed in this sort of attention more than any other. And it didn't make much difference if Hermione was with him or not. Girls would come up for an autograph or a photo with Harry Potter's best mate, sneaking kisses and dropping notes into his pockets. Ron went wild with the fawning, and Hermione was forced to sit there and endure it while her ire bubbled.

Which is why she was so late today. Lunch had been interrupted by a young journalist from _Witch Weekly._ They were running a special on Eligible Wizard Batchelors and, of course, Harry Potter was at the top of the list. Without Harry, himself, to pester for details of his ideal woman, the magazine had sought out Ron for his opinions. Hermione, his other best friend and sat right next to him, was completely ignored. She might as well have been a hat stand.

"Well, Harry always went for the sporty types," Ron had told the journalist. "Quidditch players were his favourite. Slim, supple girls, you know. Redheads always caught his eye, too. And someone from a wizarding family. He'd get irritated having to constantly explain his story to, say, a Muggleborn witch. He needs someone who knows all about him."

Hermione was so disgusted by Ron's response that she was put off her food. She wasn't cheered either by a visitor they received after the journalist left. Attracted by the attention lavished on Ron, a girl came over to say hello. Her name was Seren Shaw and she worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office with Arthur. She'd met Ron before, Hermione clocked that when she idled over to him. The girls exchanged an oddly abrasive look.

It turned out that Miss Shaw was transferring to Auror Training from her current job and had heard about Ron's acceptance from Arthur. She'd come over to offer her congratulations, and was quite sure Ron would make an excellent Auror, maybe show Harry Potter what he was missing, set _an example_ for him, maybe shame him out of exile. Hermione almost went for her wand at this.

Ron took it like he did all praise where he was compared favourably to Harry. He hitched a foot-long grin onto his face and took to smirking around smugly. He loved this, Hermione could see that. She'd scowled at him, she couldn't help it.

She was well aware that Ron had always felt a bit in Harry's shadow. They'd had more than one major falling out over it. Ron was insecure, Hermione knew that. Having five older brothers never helped, a popular younger sister merely compounded his angry misery.

But he had to compete against Harry, too.

Harry was a big name, it was hard to avoid that. Being his best friend, particularly best _male_ friend, drew obvious comparisons between them both. And Harry was just better than Ron in so many areas. It wasn't his fault, and he never lorded it over him, but there it was. He was a better Quidditch player, a more powerful wizard, girls found him more attractive. They competed in everything, intentionally or otherwise.

And, invariably, Harry tended to come out on top.

In a small corner of Hermione's mind, she often wondered whether she was part of that herself. Was she an element of the unspoken contest between them? The closest girl to two best male friends. Was that why Ron pursued her so forcefully, so that Harry couldn't have her? Hermione pushed that thought aside swiftly. She wasn't allowed to think of Harry _having_ her until she was alone and it was dark.

But was there anything in the idea? Did Ron merely see Hermione as a prize, something to claim from Harry? She hoped not. That might make her despise him. But did Harry know? Had they made an unspoken agreement on it? Or even a spoken one? They were best friends, and boys. They were bound to have discussed her, weren't they? Had Harry agreed to let Ron make a move for her so long as he didn't? Had Ron permitted Harry to go after Ginny as a sweetener?

It might explain why Harry had never shown an interest in her like that before.

Hermione shook herself. She was being ridiculous. Harry hadn't made a move for her because he'd never been interested in her in that way. She could hardly blame him for that. She'd never exactly given him much encouragement. Never betrayed _her_ interest in him.

_WHAT!_

_Her interest?_ Oi, brain? What are you talking about? She'd never been interested in Harry. Not like that. He was her best friend. She loved him like a brother, she'd always known that. These new things she was feeling for him were just conflicted due to all the stress she'd been through. The dreams were just some harmless fun, a fantasy, if a bit weird.

_Yeah, incest fantasises are always a bit weird, Hermione._

She gasped. She was floored. She didn't want to think this. She fought to clear her mind, to ban any thought from crossing her harried brain. But the idea was going nowhere. It stared back at her smugly from behind her eyes, as if it had been there all along and was now crowing the victory over her reluctance to accept the glaring truth. A truth she'd actually known for a long, long time, but had stoutly refused to look in the face.

She _fancied_ Harry!

And not just a little bit either. She fancied Harry a _lot_. Not only that ... she had done for _ages._ This wasn't just some fleeting crush.

It was a disgustingly humiliating revelation. She couldn't move for the enormity of it. She just stood with one hand on her garden gate as she let this new insight move through her. There seemed no point denying something that she knew was so glaringly obvious. When had this happened? How hadn't she known it sooner? The bigger, more pressing question made her feel quite ill.

Did she fancy Harry more than she did Ron?

She had to think that she did.

She wanted to cry out, to run away somewhere that this problem didn't exist, as if distance would somehow make it all better. But she couldn't. Someone was speaking to her and it tugged her back to reality.

"Hiya Hermione, been shopping have we?"

It was Mrs Roberts, her neighbour. She nodded at Hermione's bag-laden arms.

"Oh what?" said Hermione, oddly flustered. "Oh yes, just been getting a bit of retail therapy, you know."

 _Therapy_? Hermione felt she would definitely be needing some of that at this rate.

"Well, I just wanted to say what a _handsome_ boyfriend you've gone and gotten yourself. I tell you ... if I was thirty years younger..."

Hermione was alert in a flash. How could Mrs Roberts know about Ron? She wasn't a witch, or at least as far as Hermione knew. When had she seen them? Had she been in Diagon Alley that very day?

"I'm sorry ... what?"

"Oh no need to be so coy, dear," she said teasingly. "I'm sure I'm a bit old to be a threat to a teenage girl. Unless your bloke likes the more mature ladies, eh?"

She nudged Hermione's arm playfully. Hermione blinked. She felt like she was in shock.

"Ooh yes, just my type," Mrs Roberts went on. "Dark and brooding, the strong but silent type. So intense. I could tell that. Mmmm."

 _Dark and brooding?_ Ron? And as for silent...

"Intense? What made you think that?"

Hermione didn't know why she asked that, or what to ask for that matter. This was all too bizarre.

"Oh it was all in the eyes, dear," said Mrs Roberts. "Deep and intense. Now that's the _only_ thing I'd change. Get those glasses off of him. Pop some contacts in and get that handsome face on show."

Hermione dropped her bags.

"Are you alright, Hermione? Here let me help you with them -"

Hermione snatched out and grabbed Mrs Roberts' arm.

"When do you see him? My b-boyfriend?"

"Why, he was here all morning, dear," said Mrs Roberts. "He spent a good hour taking tea with your mum and dad. Didn't you know? Always pays to get in cosy with the in-laws. He could give _Mr_ Roberts a few pointers about that. Why are you so pale, my dear?"

Hermione had heard enough. She gathered up her scattered packages and raced towards the house with only the most mumbled of goodbyes to Mrs Roberts. She fumbled nervously to find her key. Her fingers were trembling. They wouldn't work properly. She wished Mrs Roberts wasn't watching her. She could just Apparate inside...

She found her key eventually and slammed it into the lock. She flung her bags into the hall and kicked the door shut.

"MOTHER! Where are you? I need to talk to you RIGHT NOW!"

Catrin rushed into the hall. Hermione looked so panicked and pale Catrin assumed something terrible had happened to her. She had never seen her so beside herself.

"Hermione? What is it? What's happened?"

"Harry? Was he here?" Hermione strode to her mother and looked at her fiercely, imploringly. "Was _Harry Potter_ here?"

Catrin took a calming breath.

"Yes, Harry was here, honey."

_What! How was that even possible?_

"What...when," Hermione stammered. She wished she could control herself. She was getting flustered, her mother would see...

"He came for a cuppa this morning," said Catrin, as though this were a perfectly normal thing. As though Harry popped round for a chat all the time. "Oh he's ever such a lovely young man, Hermione. You never told us quite how much."

Hermione felt her heart flutter and ache and race fast all at the same time. She was smiling even though she didn't know it.

"Mum...explain to me how _Harry Potter_ , of all people, came to be having breakfast with you!"

Catrin smiled. It was clear that Hermione hadn't been quite as open about her depth of feeling for Harry as she'd made out. Catrin was heartened by it.

"He had a bit of an accident in Oxford," Catrin explained. "He hurt his tooth and, would you believe it, he just happened to walk into our surgery last night."

Hermione felt herself tense. "Harry was hurt? Is he okay? What happened?"

"He had a bit of a fall, broke a tooth. I had to take it out. But he's _fine_ , sweetheart."

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding, her relief a very palpable thing.

"He's so polite, so charming," Catrin went on. "He was ever so pleasant when he came to the surgery that I just had to invite him over, to get to know him a bit better."

"But what about no wizards in the house?"

Catrin looked shrewdly at Hermione. It brought a flush to her cheeks.

"Your Dad and I both agreed...we'll allow that one."

" _Dad_ liked him?" Hermione breathed.

"Very much, we both did. You can invite him around any time."

Harry had made a good impression on her father? On both her parents. But why had he done that? What had impelled him to take a breakfast with them at all? And obviously he'd been at great pains to be well received. A small part of Hermione's heart whispered that he'd done it _for her_. She had to control these thoughts, fearing she'd lose her mind if she didn't.

"He wanted me to give you a message," Catrin went on. "He wants you to know he's sorry for everything and that he will make it up to you one day. Do yourself a favour, Hermione.. _.let him_. If you are angry with him, let it go. He's such a lovely boy, and he clearly thinks the world of you. From a mother to a daughter, let me just say ... you could do a hell of a lot worse."

Catrin winked at her daughter and moved away down the hall. Hermione raced up to her bedroom and threw herself down onto her bed, her heart pumping madly. What was going on, what was happening? How had the world flipped upside down in just half an hour? One thing was for sure, she hoped Harry would visit her dreams tonight. She would welcome him gladly. In fact, she'd be waiting for him.


	6. Imagine

It had started snowing again.

Harry watched the little flakes as they came down, drifting and swirling, before disappearing into the already thick snowy carpet underfoot, or else adding to the dusting on the leaves and branches of the trees. They were walking through a little wooded area in front of the museum, taking a break from the clamour of the Christmas Fayre next to it. There would be plenty of time to enjoy that later, and it would look so much prettier, so much more _Christmassy_ , all lit up when it was properly dark. It was nice to just amble around like this, with no particular goal or direction in mind. Harry was perfectly content.

Besides, Hermione needed to relax. She was too wound up.

Not that there was any need. Harry was confident. She was worrying over nothing. He wondered if he should slip her some Felix Felicis when she wasn't looking. On second thoughts, scrap that. If she found out she might garotte him. She was a worrier, and it was his job to reassure her, make her see that it would all turn out well in the end.

It was a job he took to with relish.

But right now he was just staring at her as they walked. He might have been walking towards a tree or oncoming traffic. It wouldn't have mattered. She looked so beautiful he was mesmerised. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her. Her cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, her eyes bright against the darkening night. She had snow in her hair. Flecks of ice white against the tawny brown. And that crease of concern in her forehead was positively cute.

She caught him staring. Harry felt a thrill race through him when she did. This never diminished. He never grew tired of it. There always seemed an element of surprise in the sensation and an incredible flow of elation that swelled from his chest and coursed through every fibre of him. It was like being tickled on the inside. Harry loved it.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, her face breaking into a smile. She liked Harry staring at her, and the off-guard look of adoration he wore when she caught him at it. He knew it. So he tried to do it often.

"Nothing," said Harry, returning her smile. "Just thinking how cute you look when you get a little stressed."

"When I get _a little stressed_?" she replied, half-laughing. "If that's the case I must be positively gorgeous right about now."

"You wont find me arguing with that," said Harry. "But you're _always_ gorgeous, you know that."

Hermione smiled a little shyly. He knew she'd never fully accepted this glaring truth, even after all the years of him telling her so.

"Do I need to tell you again that you're worrying about nothing?" asked Harry. "It's going to be fine, you'll see."

"Oh, Harry, I wish I was as confident as you!" Hermione cried animatedly. "I just hope I've done enough."

"Of course you have," said Harry plainly. He was in no doubt. "Look, tomorrow will go just as we planned. You're going to be a little ball of stress all day. Tonight, you just need to put it out of your mind."

"I know, I know," she sighed wearily. "You will stay with me all day, won't you? I'm going to need you."

Harry looked at her incredulously. "Stay with you? _Nooo_! I'm just going to abandon you on the biggest day of your life!"

She suddenly tucked in closer to him. She curled her arm even tighter around his. Harry noticed the moonlight glint off the white-gold band on her finger. She looked at him tenderly.

"It isn't the biggest day of my life. I've already had _that_."

The way she looked at him melted his heart. He wanted to melt into _her_ , become hopelessly tangled and entwined, one indistinguishable from the other.

"I still say you're being silly," Harry went on. "They've always wanted a Potter for Minister for Magic, now they're going to get one."

"Maybe, but I don't think they had _me_ in mind for that," said Hermione. "How many times have they offered it to you now?"

"Three, isn't it?" said Harry thoughtfully. "I'm running out of new ways to tell them to sod off. You'll do a far better job than I ever would. Look at all the hard work you've put in! You _deserve_ it. They just want me cos I'm a Merlin-damned celebrity. What do I know about politics?"

"You should know _something,_ if you've paid any attention to me for the past ten years."

"I've paid you plenty of attention," said Harry, playfully indignant. "And I always carried your scrolls and parchment to the Wizengamot meetings. Merlin knows what was _in them_ but at least I gave good moral support!"

"Yeah you did, honey," said Hermione, snuggling in closer. "I'm suppose I'm just worried about breaking precedents again. What if the voters think I'm just jumped up and presumptuous? I was the youngest member of the Wizengamot, and I'll be the youngest Minister for Magic in a hundred years if I win."

"Which you will," said Harry assertively. "Did I forget to tell you? I've already rigged it. I went around and threatened to curse entire families if they didn't vote for you."

"That's sweet of you, thanks," said Hermione, grinning at him.

"Just doing my bit," said Harry. "Team Potter and all."

"Speaking of which, we'd better go and find Mum and Dad. They'll be wondering what became of us at this rate."

"Weren't they meeting up with some old college friends? They're probably still nattering away about all things teeth, swapping ideas on root canal torture or something. I'm sure they won't even have noticed we've been gone so long."

"Even so, we should get back to the Fayre." Hermione untangled herself from Harry before sliding her arm around his waist, at the same time coiling his around her shoulders, and snuggling even closer into him. "I think you should buy me an ice cream, maybe even a glass of mulled wine."

"Is that so?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows and smirking at her. He pulled her tighter to him. "You're pushing your luck now, Mrs Potter."

Hermione hugged into Harry again and steered him around the path and back towards the amusements. The Fayre was called _Winter Wonderland_ and featured a large Ferris wheel, a temporary ice rink, a multitude of stalls and Christmas-themed attractions to tempt visitors to part with their hard earned cash. It was set up in front of Cardiff City Hall and the National Museum next door to it. The place was packed with people enjoying the rides and the snow and Harry was doubtful he'd be able to find Hermione's parents in the crowd.

He hoped they could. After all, they had something very important of his in their care.

It took a good ten minutes and a lot of dodging raucous children but Harry and Hermione eventually spotted David and Catrin Granger. Harry had been on the verge of using a locator spell when they moved passed a Bavarian-style wooden hut selling authentic ale and mulled drinks. Catrin and David were sat inside, next to a large cardboard cut out of a man and woman in lederhosen. The faces had been cut out and other guests were putting their heads into the holes and having photographs taken.

Harry saw Hermione looking at it. "Don't even think about it," he said warningly.

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Hermione implored. "It'll be funny."

"I doubt it. Come on, your parents might get the next round if we've timed it right."

Hermione clucked her tongue as she and Harry entered the hut. Her parents spotted them and waved them over. They joined them at the booth they were sat in.

"My its chilly out, isn't it?" said Catrin. "David was just heading to the bar. This mulled wine is lovely and warming, Hermione."

"Then I'd better have one, Dad," said Hermione, winking at David as he got up.

David shook his head in resignation. "Two mulled wines then. Harry? The ale's excellent, I must say."

"Be rude not sample it then," said Harry. "Do you need a hand?"

"No, I'm sure I can manage."

David went off to the bar. Harry looked over at Hermione. She was crouched down at the side of the table. There was a child's pushchair parked there, too. Hermione was adjusting the blankets around a little girl with pale skin and bushy, jet black hair. She was asleep at the moment, but if she was awake her eyes would have shone a startling emerald green.

"Did she give you any trouble?" asked Hermione, looking up at her mother.

"Who, _Sophie_?" said Catrin in mild surprise. She smiled warmly as the sleeping little girl stirred in the pushchair. "She was a good as gold. Fell asleep as soon as we put her down."

"Really?" said Hermione. She looked at Harry and grinned. "Take some notes, honey. She's never that pliant at home."

"Its a grandmothers touch," said Catrin lightly. "I always said this magic of yours isn't all its cracked up to be."

Catrin winked at Harry as David returned to the table with the drinks.

"So, where did you two disappear to?" Catrin continued. "We were about to send out a search party."

"Give them a break, Cat," said David. "I bet they don't get much time for romantic strolls these days, what with Hermione's impending grasp for power and the little one in the pushchair. Take advantage of any time with just the two of you, I say. You wont get much, trust me."

Hermione shifted nervously in her seat. "Well, _technically_ , it wasn't just the two of us..."

She looked imploringly at Harry, as though willing him to understand. They'd always shared unspoken communication. They knew each other's minds. Comprehension didn't take long.

He looked at her, longingly and lovingly. " _What_... are you saying..."

She shrugged shyly, so cute that Harry ached at the sight of it. Catrin gasped and clapped her hands together, smiling broadly. David slid his arm warmly around her shoulders. Hermione took Harry's hand and placed it on her tummy. His heart was hammering incredibly hard, immense joy pumping through him with each beat. He looked into her eyes, loving her with everything he had. She smiled back at him, reflecting all the love he was sending her.

"Merry Christmas, Harry..."

* * *

Harry shot awake, breathing heavily. He scrambled around, trying to get his bearings. It didn't help being in an unfamiliar bed, but all beds were unfamiliar these days. He eventually found his glasses on the nightstand. His heart was racing. He was fairly confident he might pass out if he didn't calm down. But how could he be _calm_? After _that_? After what he'd just seen?

Calm was about as far away as it could be.

Harry jumped up and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed some cool water on his face and considered his reflection. It was white with shock. Harry tried to order his mind, but it was all over the place. He just couldn't sort his convoluted thoughts, make sense of the images he'd seen. Not just seen, but _lived_. He'd been there, been that Harry. In the future. With...

He couldn't properly form that concept. It was too wild. Not only that...it had been too good. Too _perfect_.

Harry Potter didn't get perfect. That was a life he'd forsaken for the Greater Good.

But the dream had been so vivid, compellingly _real_. What worried him was how strikingly similar the sensation was to the one he felt after the vision where he'd seen him and Ginny at Kings Cross. It didn't feel like a dream. It _felt_ real. And he had been prepared to believe the first one, change his view on the world and himself, make the life choices that had set him off on this path. And now he'd seen _this_. What the hell was he supposed to make of it?

More importantly, what the flying fuck was he supposed to _do?_ Now he'd seen it. Whatever it was.

Harry didn't think he could dwell on it. It was just so crazy and his thoughts such a collision of chaos that he doubted he'd make much sense of it anyway. He'd go back to sleep. Yes. That would be best. He'd get up in the morning and realise that the whole thing had been a dream and he'd have a good laugh at himself by how mental he was getting. He'd blame it on the solitude addling his brain.

So he did. But the cold light of day didn't help the situation. Whilst Harry didn't dream again that night, his brain had merely put the first dream into pause for a few hours, then hit play as soon as Harry opened his eyes again. He wouldn't be able to avoid looking at it, analysing it, understanding what the bloody hell the meaning of it was.

It really didn't help that Harry was actually in Cardiff, where the dream had taken place. He slipped out of his hotel in the city centre after breakfast and followed directions for the City Hall. He was amusing himself trying out the Welsh pronunciations on all the street signs. He imagined that people hearing him must have thought he sounded like he was constantly clearing his throat. He really couldn't fathom how to form the sound of all the double ff's and dd's. He thought he'd make no sense to a Welsh person, but it was a fun distraction.

Which was definitely what he needed.

Because the images of the dream, or the vision, or whatever it had been, were flooding back to him now he was re-tracing his steps. He found the museum and its little park, exactly as it had been in the dream just without the snow, where he and...he couldn't even say her name, to imagine her in the scene. To remember their conversation. The way she'd hugged into him, their closeness, the tenderness in her eyes. Their _relationship_. What it had become...

Harry felt it was akin to thinking something illegal.

Imagine if this had been a vision of his future. Imagine Hermione about to become Minister for Magic. The youngest one in a century. That wasn't really too much of a stretch. Harry could totally see that happening. Hermione righting all the wrongs and injustices she saw in the world as the Head of Wizard Government. She'd give them what for. She'd make a great Minister. Harry would absolutely vote for her.

But then again, he'd have to...if she was his _wife_.

Harry shook his head in amazement at the notion. Imagine Hermione as his wife! Actually, now he thought about it, there was something quite lovely about that. Harry liked the idea much, much more than he knew he should. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about before. After all, she was like a sister to him. He loved her like that. She wasn't girlfriend material.

_Are you having a laugh, Potter?_

Why wouldn't she be? Harry felt like he was insulting her. He mentally kicked himself in the shins. What qualities did Hermione lack that a good girlfriend needed? None at all. The answer came before the question had finished being posed. She was caring, passionate, loyal. And, though he felt unworthy, she was always way above and beyond in these areas where _he_ was concerned.

Did anyone care more about him? Actually, now he considered it, he doubted anyone did. Ron had abandoned him freely in the past, all his other so called friends, too. Hermione never had, even at the worst of times, or when everyone else so easily turned on him. She had been prepared to absorb a share of the scorn just for sticking so firmly by him. By positioning herself as his only remaining champion.

And she had done so even when she would have rightly been embarrassed to do it. Like all the love triangle stories spun about them and Viktor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament. Harry only now considered how bizarre it was that he'd never given the idea much thought, especially then when it was slapping him in the face.

A relationship with Hermione. It had the feel of the forbidden.

But loads of others had seen something between them. It had been hot gossip a few years ago. Front page news. A jealous witch had even assaulted Hermione with hate mail after it was suggested she was playing him off against Krum. She hadn't even complained about that. She bore it all with incredible dignity, defiantly refusing to leave his side.

Harry felt one of those overwhelming surges of affection for her. It threatened to drown him. Harry should have appreciated her more. He felt terrible for not doing so. She might have even felt something more than just friendship towards him, that's why she stuck by him, and he'd never done her the courtesy of even entertaining the possibility of a deeper relationship with her.

Maybe she liked him more than anyone, too.

Ginny had liked him before she'd even met him. That wasn't real affection. That was hero-worship, idolisation. She loved an idea. And the real Harry was so much different. And there was one person who knew that better than anyone.

And Harry had just dreamed about being married to her.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't deny Hermione's merits as a potential girlfriend. She was kind and considerate, generous and giving. And she'd never left his side. Hadn't he come to see her as the voice of reason and conscience in his own mind? Who else had such a positive influence over him? Such a deep resonance in his heart? Hadn't that been why he'd waited around for her, hoping she would come to find him when she knew he wasn't at that blasted party? And she had done just that. He knew she would. He just knew her that well.

He doubted he'd know anyone better. Ever. Or that he'd even want to. Who would possibly be better to be that intimate with than Hermione?

He accepted now how close to his heart Hermione had surreptitiously crept. Without his really noticing her. Why had he never noticed her? She'd been there, at his side, all this time and he felt now he'd never really seen her. Not looked at her in the right way to see her properly. As a girl, as a young woman. Maybe as a girlfriend.

But someone else had. And the realisation made Harry feel gut-churningly sick.

Ron. He'd spotted it. He'd noticed. And made his move and got the girl. Could Hermione really prefer Ron to him? It was with arrogance that shamed him that Harry found himself unable to accept this. In what sort of fucked up world would _that_ ever happen? Ron never beat him at anything. How dare he think he was better for Hermione that Harry, himself, was?

Harry gasped and clutched his chest. It _hurt_. So, so much. It throbbed with a dull ache that Harry couldn't stymie. He had to sit on a bench to gather himself. He was casting dark, nasty aspersions against Ron, his oldest friend. But worse than that, he was _hating_ him for having Hermione. Hating himself, too, for finding out too late that he might have no chance with the girl that, he realised now, was best suited to him. The realisation hit him like a runaway Gringott's cart.

He _wanted_ Hermione. He might even be in love with her. There might not even be a _might_ about it.

Harry just sat and stared at the air in front of him. Nothing else existed in the world but him and this idea. He wanted Hermione. He wanted her so badly he thought he was prepared to go up against Ron, challenge him for her. The vision came back to him. It warmed him. He could still see the snow in Hermione's hair, the wedding ring on her finger, hear the way he called her _Mrs Potter_. They way she seemed so pleased to be. Could he make that happen?

But what was he saying? This was all ridiculous. Hermione was with Ron. She clearly didn't care for _him_ like that. She would have said so long ago if she did. Wouldn't she? But she didn't say she liked Ron before they got together. It just sort of happened. Would it have made a difference if Harry had confessed an interest in her? What might have happened if she'd gone with him to Slughorn's Christmas party that year? What if they'd drifted under the mistletoe together?

Imagine kissing Hermione! Harry's heart went berserk at the idea. His loins stirred too. She was ever such a pretty girl, now he allowed himself to think of it. It was like a taboo had been lifted. But she was also _Hermione_ , and beautiful for everything that meant. He felt such a fool, such a total blind idiot. He sat in the park and realised he'd never known himself as much as he did in that instant. And he knew something new and hopeful, too. It incited possibilities that Harry might find redemption after all.

For yes, he was a killer. But he could also _make life_ too. He'd seen it. Seen _her_.

He'd seen his daughter. She had his hair, he knew she had his eyes too, even though she'd been asleep and he hadn't seen them. She had Hermione's milky complexion. With a bit of luck, her brains too. Harry chuckled that he hoped the drag factor of his own brain wouldn't hinder her too much. He felt so much love in his heart that he felt on the verge of tears. Love for his daughter. Love for his wife.

He just _had_ to find a way to make this vision come true.

But where was he supposed to start? First of all he had to accept this new truth in his life. Allow and accept this new concept of Hermione Granger. He couldn't go anywhere until he did. But that was easy. It made him smile. It filled him with an unbridled sense of joy. It made him want to cry out and...what was it the girls called it... _squeal_ with the wonder of it. It astonished him that he'd never permitted such a fabulous idea into his consciousness before.

More than anything, it made him _happy_. He had forgotten what genuine happiness felt like.

So there it was. He felt...whatever it was that he felt. He was a bit scared to even _think_ the word. But he felt it for Hermione. And he simply _loved_ that he did...especially as it was for her. He thought there was no-one he'd rather feel _that way_ about. There was something familiar and comforting in it. But also something so different and new and exciting that it span his mind and set his heart to tremulous beating. This well known, but too-monumental-to-be-voiced-aloud emotion - he had it in spades for his best-ever friend. Oh Merlin, how he'd love to be able to call her more.

But there were mega obstacles in front of that. And Harry didn't know which one he should tackle first.

The obvious issue was Ron. Her boyfriend. Harry didn't feel he had words powerful, angry or resentful enough to apply to how he felt about that situation now. Ron didn't deserve her, wasn't anywhere near good enough for a girl as incredible as Hermione. Harry felt - knew in fact - that he, himself, wasn't good enough for her, either. But Ron would just make her unhappy. He did, more often than not. How could Hermione accept this? Harry certainly couldn't.

So should he go to her first, get into her mind...then see if he could get under her skin? As she'd done with him. That seemed the better plan. No point in going and tackling Ron if Hermione had no interest in him at the end of the day. He had a niggling hope in that area.

Her mother had dropped a few anvil-sized hints.

The way she'd made out, Hermione had talked of nothing but Harry for years. The thought set Harry's increasingly overworked heart to yet more labour. His spirits were driven crazy by the idea. Imagine Hermione talking about him constantly with her parents. What would she have said? How would she have painted him? Both must have been positive. Harry was sure of that. If the Weasleys had made such a bad impression, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if they hadn't banned wizards from their house outright. But Catrin had invited him of her own accord. Surely, that was a good thing.

And he thought he had given a fairly decent account of himself during his visit. Hopefully they didn't see all magic as bad. They cant have...they'd happily babysat his daughter, after all.

Harry's heart simply went nuts at this. This future was now all he wanted. As he thought on it further, it only made him want Hermione more. If he wasn't careful, she would quickly become an obsession. It pushed him to the verge of recklessness. He could go and find her right now, confess all and see what happened. He checked himself - the thought was scarier than facing Voldemort with no wand.

He had to step back, understand what was going on, and be sensible. There was, after all, no guarantee that his vision had been anything of the sort. It might have been a normal dream. It might have exposed some long, deeply-hidden desires of his, but it might not have been predictionary. This might not be a future ever likely to happen. He might pour out his heart to Hermione, only to have her reject him, because she was in love with Ron.

This was not only likely, but probable. Harry wanted to throw up at the notion.

Heart-breaking depression began to settle on Harry in the little park. But still the vision sat with him. Despite all the obvious obstacles, the painful hurdles they must have overcome, he'd ended up with Hermione in the end, in that beautiful, incredible future. And how _happy_ had he been! In fact, happy didn't come close to define that elation he'd felt. And he knew his future self had felt like that all the time. Every single day. It was as if he'd lived it himself.

Harry, in that moment, couldn't imagine how it could have happened. But gods did he want it. So very much.

So where did he go from here? The answer was crystal clear. How could he go on with his idle wandering when the answer to his suffering was back where he'd come from all along? How he was going to get her was an altogether bigger and newer problem. It was going to get ugly, that was clear, whichever way it went. Ron would be the biggest obstacle, sooner rather than later. But Harry was struck with a brutal idea just then.

_Fuck Ron. Fuck him. If Hermione would rather be with me, fuck Ron up his arse. If it turns out she's gone mental and prefers him, I'll just disappear again and spend my life nursing a broken heart. I'll be no worse off than I am now. But Ron can go fuck himself._

_Fucking ginger cunt._

Harry felt he had been waiting to think these things for years. Definitely since Ron turned on him during the start of the Triwizard Tournament, and again when he stropped off during the Horcrux Hunt. Harry felt he'd never allowed himself to be truly angry with his friend. He'd made a mockery of the very term. And Harry had just let him back into his life. He felt disgusted at himself. During that tumultuous and painful time at the beginning of his fourth year, only Hermione had truly stuck by him. She had stuck so close to him she made up for the absence of everyone else. Harry had only needed her.

And how had he repaid her? By running back to Ron as soon as he'd realised Harry had been telling the truth all along.

_For fucks sake, Potter, you are a first class dickhead._

Harry was mentally totting up all the things he owed Hermione for, and all the apologies and thanks she was due from him. He rather fancied that the cumulative effect of all of these might be profound enough to make her fall in love with him too. If he could articulate it just right. What could Ron offer in comparison to this adoration, that she had _earned_ from him? He'd managed to fluke speaking Parseltongue once. Harry had always been dubious about this. He was only able to use this talent due to a piece of Voldemort residing inside him. What the hell was Ron's excuse to be able to use this universally-accepted Dark Art?

Harry wasn't prepared to pursue this course of thought. He was bitterly jealous that Ron was going out with Hermione but he wasn't about to accuse his friend of being a covert Death Eater or Dark Lord incumbent. Aside from the fact that both ideas were laughable, a part of Harry accepted that it was just the newness of his realisation of his feelings for Hermione that was driving his irrationally angry thoughts. Ron was no longer a friend - he was a _rival_. There was no place for sentiment.

But Harry was stumped for his next move. He couldn't go to Hermione. Not yet. This was all too raw. He didn't know how he'd react to seeing her. Probably just try to kiss her senseless and hope she didn't hex him for it. That wasn't likely to be a smart play. But he had to touch base with her, let her know he was still about. Maybe put him on her mind. He liked that idea.

Fucking Voldemort. Killing Hedwig like that. What a prick. Harry felt like his mail client had gone down. How was he supposed to contact the Wizarding World without his owl? There must be Wizarding Post Offices somewhere. Cardiff was the Capital city of Wales, after all. There must be a thriving magical community hidden here somewhere. He had to find them, see if they'd lend him an owl.

It actually wasn't that hard at all. Harry was thankful for the Druidic influence on this Celtic Principality. It was like there was magic everywhere here. Harry might as well have been standing on a lay-line. It set his route out for him. He made his way back into the city centre, where Cardiff Castle stood as a centrepiece of the local amenities. An outlying wall of the castle drew his attention. Gargoyles stood proud atop the brickwork and Harry was fascinated by their ugly, contorted faces.

Then one winked at him.

Harry responded to the Magic that the passing Muggles were oblivious to. They just rushed by and saw nothing. Harry reached up and grabbed the poking-out tongue of the statue. Next thing he was tugged, Portkey-like, through the wall and into a secret, unseen domain.

He was in a market place, sort of like a square version of Diagon Alley. There were shops and stalls, vendors and traders flogging their wares. A merchant was selling Holyhead Harpies Quidditch robes from a cart pulled by a Thestral ( _"Obviously knock-offs, Angharad, put your purse away;" "Oh definitely, Bethan. Only ten Galleons each? Jog on, butty!"_ ). Harry wandered through the melee, trying to keep his head down. On the far side of the square there were some official looking buildings. Harry was thrilled to see a Post Office among them.

Inside, it smelt of owl poo. A harassed-looking stooped witch was tending the counter. Harry approached her.

"Hello, I'd like to send something to Hogwarts School. Can I do that from here?"

"Of course, dear," said the Postmaster Witch. "Its Four Sickles per letter, a Galleon surcharge for any parcel over 1 kilo."

"Oh this will just be a card," said Harry. He counted out Four Sickles.

"Thank you, dear," said the witch. "Just pick an owl as soon as you're done and throw it up the chimney."

She pointed to an unlit hearth on the far side on the room. Harry was dubious but kept his thoughts to himself. He crossed to a shelf near the hearth and took down a sheet of ultra thick parchment, a Wizarding postcard. He uncorked a bottle of ink and picked out the least-chewed quill he could find from a jar next to it. Then he paused, the quill hovering over the page below.

What was he going to say? Confessing his undying love seemed a tad dramatic. Hermione might just tell him to piss off anyway if he did that. Harry didn't want to picture that outcome. He was going to marry her, they were going to have children together and she would become Minister for Magic. Somehow. But telling her that would definitely send her running, too.

No, he would just keep it simple. Maybe only a few words. She was returning to Hogwarts, he knew where she was. She was going to be made Head Girl. He could just send her a congratulatory note. That would be unsuspicious enough. He supposed her parents would have told her about him visiting them. He wondered what she thought about all that. It would seem totally weird at the very least.

Maybe one day they would talk about it...if her parents would watch the kids again.

Harry smiled to himself, then began to write.

* * *

Hermione pottered about her room anxiously that morning. She wanted to make sure she had everything. She always worried she'd forgotten something, no matter how easy it was to send things on if she had. Her checklist was on her desk, with double ticks next to each item. Even so, Hermione was sure she'd missed something. This wasn't a new experience.

Each return to Hogwarts day was the same.

But Hermione was determined to be finished early today. She wanted to take a last breakfast with her mother before they headed off to London. She had enjoyed breakfast over the past few days. Her father had taken the early shifts at the dental surgery. It meant it was just Hermione and her mother, and they could talk about whatever they liked.

And what they both liked to talk about was Harry Potter.

Hermione had fancied Harry for three weeks. Or at least, it had been that long since she admitted it to herself. The concept wasn't unfamiliar anymore. It was still hopelessly illicit and fraught with dangers and problems, but there was something wholly satisfying about it too. It was worth the moral conundrums plaguing her mind. The more she dwelt on it - and she'd dwelt on little else recently - the more the idea swelled in her and the more pleasant and intoxicating the sensations that accompanied it.

Truth was, she _liked_ fancying Harry.

Now that she'd allowed herself to. For he was so worth fancying. Such a kind and brave and sweet boy. Her best friend in so many ways. She felt she hadn't wholly appreciated how much she _appreciated_ him, until she'd opened the floodgates and allowed all the forbidden thoughts about him, that she now accepted she'd denied herself for years, into her mind.

She puzzled herself wondering why. It was obviously a defensive reflex. She liked Harry incredibly much. She was a little frightened about how much, if she allowed her heart to rule her dominant head for once. That was why she'd restricted herself, never allowed these kinds of ideas to come to her before.

She'd fall so badly for him if she did. She could see that now.

For he had such qualities that would make any girl a little giddy. And when knowing him intimately enhanced those qualities to stratospheric levels it made him practically irresistible, no matter now sensible and bookish a girl tried to be to bat the ideas away. Books as a shield, a wall of paper and parchment to keep Harry firmly in the friend category.

Because he'd never return those sorts of feelings. Not for someone like Hermione Granger.

She was certain of that. And the risk of rejection was simply too great to even allow the beginnings of the concept into her mind. If she never allowed herself to admit she liked Harry more than a friend should, she would never have to face the disappointment of him turning her down if he ever found out. Imagine that. Imagine Harry finding out about all this? Hermione blushed and shivered with fear at the thought. It would be shameful. To see his pitying eyes apologising for not feeling _that wa_ y about her. Because he was sweet enough to do that. He'd care about hurting her feelings, he would hurt to do it. He cared about her that much, at least.

But how much more?

Because there seemed to be more, however wild and speculative this appeared to be on the face of it. Hermione's mother was positively convinced of it. She hadn't outright stated it, but the suggestion was certainly there. And she talked so _highly_ of Harry, she couldn't praise him enough or say enough nice things about him. And Hermione's heart did strange, uncontrolled things when she did. She liked it so much she dragged herself out of bed early just to have her mother recount Harry's visit over successive breakfasts.

"But he looked well?" Hermione asked, sipping her tea.

Catrin knew where Hermione was going with this. She wasn't allowed to think about Harry's physical appearance in her newly lovesick brain. He was still off-limits in that way. Hermione needed her mother to give her permission, or to live out Hermione's response as a sort of proxy.

"He looked fine. Handsome even with a missing tooth," said Catrin. "I say he could still use a bit of extra weight but some people are just built that way. Do you think Harry will get that tooth fixed by magic? You had yours done once. Don't think your father and I didn't notice. Its kind of our area of expertise."

"There's no _kind of_ about it, Mum, as you well know," said Hermione. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You know I've always had a problem being so buck-toothed."

"Harry Potter didn't seem to think it was a problem."

Hermione blushed crazily and her thoughts began running stupidly fast. She knew Harry hadn't told her parents that he thought she was attractive. Catrin knew it too, but she'd also heard Harry speak about Hermione in such gushing terms. It wasn't so much his words, but the tone of his voice, the glow of his eyes and the tinge to his cheeks when he spoke of her. He cared for her deeply, that was clear. For Catrin, it wasn't too much of a stretch to fill in the blanks that he'd left unspoken.

"But I don't think Harry will get the tooth repaired," Hermione went on, gathering herself. "Knowing him, he'll think he would be doing you a disservice if he did. As though all you did for him was for nothing. He'd think he was insulting you, so he'd sooner go around with a hole in his smile."

Hermione thought about Harry's smile. It warmed her. She so hoped she would see it again, missing a tooth or not.

"Such a sweet boy," said Catrin. "Well you tell him from me I wont be offended if he gets it fixed."

"I will, Mum...if I ever see him again."

"Oh, I'm sure you will sweetheart."

There was such a certainty, and such a hint of that forbidden _something else_ in her mother's words that Hermione felt flustered again. She took to sipping her tea and tried to ignore her mother's knowing looks.

An hour later and Hermione and her mother were skirting London on the way to Kings Cross. Hermione was oddly nervous. She felt as she'd done on her first day. As if she were going to an alien world. On her own. For this wouldn't be Hogwarts as she'd come to know it. It would be one without Ron and more profoundly, Hermione admitted with sense of moral shame, without Harry. She shifted uneasily as she thought of it.

To tell the truth, she was a little scared.

Because who would look after her if Harry wasn't there? Voldemort or not, Hogwarts was still an irrationally dangerous place to be on your own. Hermione had gotten into her fair share of close-calls and hair raising scrapes. She rather thought this might have happened even if she hadn't made friends with one of the Wizarding World's biggest celebrities. But he had lived up to his billing. He'd saved her time and again. He'd perfected his _saving-people-thing_ saving Hermione Granger.

From a twelve-foot troll, to a blood-thirsty basilisk, to a werewolf and wrongly accused mass-murderer, right through to Voldemort himself. Intentionally or not, Harry had always been there for her. More importantly perhaps, now she considered it, he had also always been there to cheer her up when she was upset, mostly at Ron's unwitting hands. What would she do this year without him?

These thoughts troubled her all the way to Kings Cross. She felt oddly-childlike again as she and her mother lifted her trunk from the car and began wheeling it towards the station. She had an odd urge to hold her mother's hand. She was being silly, she knew that. But she couldn't help but feel alone.

There was more than that, though. She felt like she was being watched. Oddly on display. She wildly wondered if Harry was somewhere around, hiding, come to see her off without her spotting him. She looked around for him. There were a few black-haired boys mulling about, plenty of people with glasses. But the right combination eluded her gaze. She was being desperate again. It was starting to get humiliating, the lengths she would go to.

The real reason for her disquiet soon became apparent. As she left her mother on the Muggle side of Kings Cross (she didn't want to chance another meeting with the Weasleys) Hermione felt all eyes on her as she made her way along the platform. She rather felt she should have expected this. Her connection to Harry had given her minor celebrity status in the Wizarding Community. And here she was, by herself, without her buffers of Harry, himself, and Ron to deflect the spotlight from her. She cowed against the stares and whispers and was forcibly reminded how much she hated this. She wanted to simply disappear into crowd. That option was soon cut off though.

"Oi! Hermione! Over here!"

Hermione closed her eyes and died a little inside. If there was anyone left who _hadn't_ noticed her, Ron's carrying call along the platform would have alerted them to what they were missing. Heads swung in her direction. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Why hadn't she just Apparated to school, save all this palava?

Hermione meekly ambled over to Ron. He was stood with just Molly and Ginny. Even Arthur wasn't there. It was the smallest Weasley seeing-off party Hermione had ever seen. Hermione was drawn into a hug by Molly as soon as she was in arms length. She received it peaceably enough. But then Ron stepped in. And kissed her. Fully on the mouth. In front of everyone.

It made Hermione feel sick. She might go as far as to say _violated_.

There was no doubt anymore. The change in Hermione was complete. She had been subconsciously waiting for this moment, as though it would bring confirmation of her shift in affections. And Merlin, had it done that! It had caught her off-guard, she hadn't expected it so soon. She wanted more time to adjust. But life didn't play by the rules. It brought the truth slamming home to Hermione's heart.

She didn't love Ron. She didn't want to be with him anymore, she didn't think she could stand to be for a second longer. She was on the verge of doing something about it.

But then she looked at Ron, looking at her so earnestly. He was like a puppy, waiting for approval that he'd used the sandbox for his business for the first time. And Hermione faltered. She couldn't do it to him. She just couldn't. She had gotten herself into a right hole.

_You've gone and done it this time, Hermione!_

What a mess!

Hermione couldn't think on this now, think of a way to resolve all the issues without drawing monumental scorn and judgement down on herself. She couldn't cope with it on her own. Where the hell was Harry? She needed him now, more than ever! What the hell was he playing at, stirring all these emotions in her then disappearing into the wilderness. She chided herself. She couldn't blame Harry. He hadn't done anything. This wasn't his fault. It was hers and she knew that only she could get herself out of it.

But she'd love Harry to be around to help.

He wouldn't care what people thought. He'd still be her friend, even if she broke Ron's heart. He'd forgive her, support her, help her through her side of that trainwreck. Imagine how close that would draw them. Hermione's heart skipped happily at the thought. It would be just the two of them against the world.

There was something unspeakably lovely about that image.

Just the two of them. Like being married. Oh Merlin, imagine being _married_ to Harry! Hermione could totally get on board with that idea. Just her and Harry, away from all the craziness, needing no-one but each other. She felt light-headed. She had to get away from the Weasleys. She couldn't think about being married to Harry when Ron was stood right there.

There'd be plenty of time to indulge that fantasy on the train.

"Well, I suppose I'd better get on before the train leaves without me," said Hermione.

"Yeah, definitely," said Ron. "Wouldn't do for the Head Girl to miss the first day!"

"You can share a compartment with me if you like," said Ginny. "I'm sure we will have a fun journey."

"The Prefects and Head Students have their own carriages, Gin," said Ron. "They don't ride with the riff-raff!"

"Sod off, Ron," said Ginny poking him. "Well, if you get bored of the posh seats you can always come and find me, Hermione. I'm sure we can squeeze you in."

_What an invite_ , Hermione thought bitterly. She thought she'd rather sit up front with the driver.

The Hogwarts Express tooted its horn. Hermione began to push her trolley towards the scarlet steam engine. Ron suddenly grabbed her arm.

"Not going to see me for three months and you're just going to leave without a kiss goodbye!" he said in mock indignation. "Some girlfriend you are!"

He was playing, but it took all she had for Hermione not to scowl. Ron stepped in for another lingering kiss. Hermione tensed as if being hit by _Petrificus Totalus._ She was glad Ron was so dense. He didn't notice a thing. But Hermione knew she had to play the part.

"Right then, well, I'll see you at Christmas," she said in a would-be-breezy voice. "Let me know how your first day at Auror Training goes."

"Oh I will," said Ron beaming. "Have a good term. You know, it feels a bit weird to be dating a schoolgirl!"

_It feels totally weird to be dating you at all_ , Hermione thought. _Not to mention wrong, perverse, unnatural, disgusting..._

Hermione offered one last faux smile then headed for the train before Ron could move in for another smooch. She heaved her trunk into the carriage then trundled off to the front of the train. The Prefects were already in the second carriage. Hermione knew that one, she'd used it before. But she moved now to the first carriage. The one reserved for the Head Boy and Girl. She entered and used her wand to stow her heavy trunk in the overhead compartment. Then she sat down.

A new thought occurred to her. Who would be the Head Boy? Who would she have to share this compartment with, share duties with? Did she know him already? She was hit with a pang of regret of what might have been. It should have been Harry. He should be here with her. They'd have this entire journey, all those hours, by themselves. How lush would that be?

And her fantasy came back to her.

Married to Harry. She allowed the images to flood her mind now. They made her smile so broadly anyone who saw might have thought she was going a little mad. In a way, they would have been right. This all-consuming idea had the potential to drive her a little crazy. It would keep her up at night. But it was a sensation so wonderful it drove away the guilt she was feeling over Ron. Being with Harry was just that powerful a dream.

But that's still all it was and, Hermione reminded herself, all it was ever likely to be.

Harry was still gone, still absent. That was the only definite fact about him. And in his absence Hermione was able to indulge her whims and build up this new construction of him. It might be wildly left field, based on flimsy foundations. Or it might make her explode from happiness if it came true. She didn't know how she would feel to see him again. It might overload her, cause her to pass out. She wouldn't be surprised if she kept thinking about him in this way.

The train started to move. Hermione was jerked back to the moment. She had better get into character. Surely she wouldn't be on her own for long. She pulled her new robes from her trunks and slung them on, before pinning her shiny silver and red Head Girl badge onto her chest. Despite being on her own, she felt a swell of pride at herself.

She wished Harry was here to see her. She thought he'd be proud of her, too.

Hermione was surprised to find she spent the entire train journey alone. Nobody came to visit her and the Head Boy, whoever he was, hadn't shown up either. Maybe he'd been too intimidated to join her in the carriage. She could see how that might be daunting. Not that she was complaining. She found she could bear the solitude quite cheerfully. She had her fantasies for company and that was more than enough for her.

Her first real shock came when she arrived at Hogsmeade station. The carriages to the school were waiting for them. Hermione gasped. She should have prepared herself for this, known it was coming.

She could see Thestrals now.

And how ugly were they? Skeletal and brutal looking things. Seriously, Hogwarts should find something less horrific to drive the student transports. Hermione wondered how many others could see them, too? Many of the older ones would have been present at the Battle of Hogwarts, seen the death there also. It seemed a lifetime ago already.

Hermione could hear its echoes as her carriage rumbled along. She had a private carriage as befitted her role. The memories were rushing back to her. The sounds, the screams, the vision of Harry, dead in Hagrid's arms. Hermione couldn't stop a sob escaping her at the image. Had this been what Harry had gone through, during those weeks here on his own? She imagined he probably had.

No wonder he'd run away. She wanted to already. If only she'd gone with him...

Oh, _Hermione_ , imagine _that_! Her and Harry just running away together! It set her heart to motion again. It wouldn't have mattered about Ron, or Ginny, or every other witch and wizard in the world. It would have just been the two of them. And the hell with everyone else.

She could have comforted Harry in his darkest times, soothed him through his attacks of self-loathing, loved all the self-hate out of him. It would have been tough, but they would have come through it. She would have fixed him and it would have brought them impossibly close to one another. And if anything else had just happened...

Hermione was pulled from her reverie by the coach slamming to an abrupt halt. She jumped down from the carriage and made her way up the steps and into the castle. She had barely crossed the threshold when a voice called to her.

"Ah Miss Granger. Welcome back."

"Good evening Professor. Or do I have to call you Headmistress now term has started?"

Professor McGonagall smiled at Hermione over the rim of her square glasses. "Professor will do, just fine. I was hoping to catch you before the other students arrived. You will have noticed, I imagine, that a Head Boy has not yet been appointed."

"I didn't know that," Hermione replied. "I sort of thought they might just have been a bit scared to ride with me."

"Reasonable, I suppose," said Professor McGonagall. "But no. I had a hard time selecting a suitable candidate. I rather fear I've set the bar a little high with my choice of Head Girl."

Hermione grinned shyly.

"My solution," McGonagall continued, "is to invite applications for the post. Then you and I can filter them through and make an informed selection."

"That sounds sensible," said Hermione. "Will you announce this at the Feast?"

"Yes, after the Sorting. Speaking of which, you'd better head to the antechamber. You have Prefects to direct. You do remember the way?"

McGonagall smiled teasingly at Hermione who returned the grin, before turning and heading towards the Great Hall.

Hermione enjoyed the Feast. She allowed Ginny to sit by her and cast her opinions on the new intake of students. Condescending didn't quite encompass this experience. It was fairly bizarre. The hall was barely half as full as normal. The entire of Slytherin House had been expelled the previous year. As if to compensate, over half the new first-years were Sorted into Slytherin. It gave the Hall a more balanced feel, but it was still jarringly weird.

Then Headmistress McGonagall made her announcements. They weren't as quirky as Dumbledore's, Hermione thought with a pang of fondness. Far more business-like. More professional. But the news of the Head Boy position being open for applications stirred excitement among the seventh year boys across the Houses. This was an honour not to be passed up. Hermione was only a slightly bit embarrassed to be announced to the school as Head Girl but she bore it well and soon everyone was too busy tucking into the Feast to notice.

Then Hermione was leading Gryffindor House to their tower. She felt she grew a few inches at the head of the column of students, her two Prefects behind her. Ginny Weasley hadn't made the cut. Hermione didn't know either of them, it would be her first job in the morning. She directed the first-years to their new dormitories, including her old room. That was strange. Then she left to find her way to the Head Students private dorms.

They were situated fairly centrally in the castle, a few floors above the Transfiguration rooms, not far from the Headteacher's office. There was a comfortable, communal living room with the bedrooms attached by staircases on each side. One for the Head Girl and one for the yet-to-be-appointed Head Boy. Hermione's name was already on a plaque above the door to the left. A Gold and scarlet one, the colours of her house.

She looked briefly around her new Common Room, decided she liked it, then took the staircase and realised how tired she suddenly was. She opened the door, felt pleased with her new bedroom at first glance, then shot completely awake as a sight caught her eye.

There was a note on her pillow.

She took it cautiously. She thought she recognised the handwriting. It made her nervously excited, but she didn't want to get her hopes up. Fingers trembling, she carefully unstuck the envelope and pulled out a parchment card from inside. It contained three lines. A simple message. But it made her heart quiver as she read it over and over.

_Congratulations on being made Head Girl. I always knew you would be._

_You'll do brilliantly. You always do._

_Thinking of you..._

_Love Harry xxx_

Hermione couldn't breathe for the reading. And she couldn't understand why. Harry was safe and well, and had wanted to get in touch with her. That was overwhelming enough. But there was more to it than that. Hermione couldn't rationally explain it, or the girlish flutter it stirred in her. It wasn't as if Harry had declared his undying love for her or anything. Imagine that? She couldn't. The very idea made her dizzy. She had to sit down.

But the note was loaded as it was.

Since when had Harry signed his letters to her with kisses? Oh my god. Imagine _kissing_ Harry! Hermione couldn't picture that and keep her head on straight. But the fact that _he_ had sent kisses to _her._..what did that mean? It was fairly obvious what it meant, to everyone but Hermione Granger, who wouldn't let that idea into her world so easily. But Harry had done just that. She had it in front of her, in ink and parchment. He had sent her his love, too.

Love. And kisses. From Harry Potter.

Hermione thought she might faint if she wasn't careful.

Then there was his sign off. _Love Harry._ Unpunctuated. Not _love FROM Harry_ , either. Hermione imagined a question mark at the end that Harry had forgotten to write. Imagine if he asked her that. What would she say? She was too scared of the truth to permit an answer. But she checked herself. Talk about reading too much into something. Was she that desperate to think Harry might care about her in _that way_ that she'd find evidence of it in the silliest places?

She sighed as she accepted she probably would.

But she also knew he was thinking of her. He'd said so. But thinking _what_? And why? Why would she be on his mind? She thrilled at the idea despite her puzzlement over its reasons. Did he want her to be thinking about him? Was that why he said it? Imagine how he'd react to knowing he was the only thing that was on her mind. If that's what he'd meant. Which he probably didn't.

_Merlin, Harry, what are you trying to do to me?_

And the frustration that she couldn't answer him threatened to drive her insane. She was wonderfully cross with him. If she didn't know better, she would think he was _teasing_ her. Dangling a titillating carrot in front her that was agonisingly out of reach. That was an idea that made her grin stupidly. She was going to let herself think this. Put sense and reason into a side drawer for the night and enjoy the fantasy. It would help her sleep.

Not that she'd need much help. She knew Harry was out there, he was doing okay. She would sleep soundly knowing that.

And knowing, too, that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he was thinking of her.


	7. Out Of Exile

Harry didn't know how he'd ended up here. Of all places. On his list of places to go, this wasn't so much as somewhere near the bottom - it wouldn't have made the list at all.

Smeltings Grammar School. On Graduation Day.

There was something about the striped knickerbockers, the boaters, the knobbly sticks, that caught Harry's curiosity like kindling. He was morbidly fascinated. Had Dudley actually managed to graduate? Had he been able to fashion some sort of education, or just punched his way to an A-Level or two? Was he here at all? Harry was less sure of this than his own presence. But he just couldn't resist a look.

He hadn't come to London for this. Truth was, his cash supply was dwindling. He would have to sneak into Gringott's somehow and make a withdrawal. He had his trusty Invisibility Cloak so he wasn't overly worried about that. The goblins of Gringotts were very discreet. His anonymity was assured where they were concerned. He hadn't banked on the Muggle world being so expensive. The Dursley's fifty pence Christmas presents had seemed reasonable at the time. That would barely buy him a carrier bag these days.

But he would worry about that later. He'd arrived in London intent on heading straight into the Leaky Cauldron, until he'd seen that familiar school uniform. He followed the parade of students through Whitehall, down The Mall and off through a maze of side streets until they reached Smeltings School itself.

Having been to Oxford, Harry found himself distinctly unimpressed. Smeltings was _alright_ , but it lacked the awe-inspiring façade of even the humblest of Oxford's colleges. It was rather bland. But it produced men like Vernon Dursley so Harry shouldn't really have been too surprised. This wasn't a place Hermione would have thrived. She'd more likely have walked out.

It was the first time he'd thought of Hermione that day. It was a record. He'd normally thought of her at least half a dozen times by now. He must just be that distracted today. The last five days had been distinctly Hermione Granger-shaped, or at least driven. He'd thought of little else. It had hitched a permanent grin onto his face. He'd gotten to the point where he felt he'd be happy even if she rejected him. He was so pleased just to have fallen for her that he thought he might even be okay with it being unreturned and unrequited. She was just that worthy of feeling _that way_ about. He might be okay with just that to fill him up, even if she turned him down.

Not that he was going to accept that in reality, of course.

He was Harry fucking Potter. That had to be worth _something_.

At least he had managed to contain his thoughts of murdering Ron to just one or two times a day. On a good day. It just seemed the easiest solution. He could comfort Hermione over Ron's death - which he would so make look like an accident - and catch her on the rebound. He found he could tolerably deal with any moral issues which came along with this. If Hermione didn't ask questions, he'd never have to lie to her.

Then he'd punch himself for thinking such utter nonsense.

But the problem of Ron wasn't going to go away so easily. That ginger prick was a formidable obstacle. For the first fucking time ever! That's even if Hermione was prepared to leave him _and_ get together with Harry. Neither of these things were certain. Harry had flimsy grounds on which to believe that either thing could happen, let alone both together.

That's what had kept him from simply running to Hermione and throwing himself at her feet. She had never shown anything like that kind of interest in him. And why should she, reasonably? To be fair, Harry was a bit of a twat. And he'd been more than a bit of a twat _to her._ He knew this. He'd never meant to be, and he resented himself for every time he was. But his repentance didn't change history.

He just lost his temper easily and she was in the way a lot. She'd absorbed it like a queen, and thrown it back at him when he deserved it. He absolutely loved that about her now. That she was brave enough and clever enough to tell him off when he was out of line. She wasn't afraid of who he was. He was just Harry to her, not Harry 'Boy Who Lived' Potter. Whoever that knob was. Sometimes he needed to be told he was just a normal boy who was making normal mistakes, albeit in an abnormal world.

And there was a hell of a lot to be said for someone treating Harry like he was _normal._

Merlin, he hated himself for not seeing Hermione properly before. He could have felt like this for her for years and been happier for it. She'd made him such a better man for her influence already, and he would only improve for being with her more intimately in the future. If he could find a way to get her. And he so wanted to be better. Just for her. Everyone else could go hang themselves.

Which brought him neatly back around to Ron.

For he'd thought about hanging Ron. At least three times. It was easy to make that look like a suicide. And he'd also thought about hanging himself three times for _thinking that_. He honestly didn't want to kill Ron. Not really. If he took Hermione and Ron died of a broken heart that might pass as natural causes. Harry thought he could live with that. But actual, outright murder was just a curse of Harry's lovesick mind.

He had forgotten totally what Ron The Friend looked like. All he could see in his mind's eye was Ron - Hermione's Undeserving, Lucky-As-Fuck, Ugly Ginger Fucktard Boyfriend. As worthy to hex for that crime as the most devious Death Eater. And that was the boyfriend as much as the ginger part. All Harry could see was Ron doing all the things with Hermione that Harry was screaming inside to be doing with her, himself. But more than that, he could see all the times Ron upset Hermione, the times he made her cry, the times he would do it again in the future. Harry could see these vividly in his mind.

And he wanted to curse Ron stupid for every single one.

But Harry was directing much of this anger at himself, too. He was used to this by now. Realising how utter a waste of life he was. What a burden to the world and everyone in it he was. How had he ever managed to have any friends? How could he be genuinely entertaining hopes that Hermione would ever want to be anything more with him? After how he'd been with her. Who would? Nobody, that was the truth. A truth that Harry knew applied to Hermione, weird visions or not, more than anyone. An amazing girl like her should never have to be burdened with even the possibility of such a relationship with him. Even if she went mad and _wanted_ it. He wouldn't dump it on her.

She shouldn't have to deal with his shit. Nurse such a broken man. A man so undeserving of her as Harry. A man who had never once defended her against Ron, when he was unreasonably attacking her. Never stood up for her when she was in the right, which she mostly was. Even when it made Harry a bit upset with her. She'd almost _always_ been right, and she had Harry's interests at heart every time. Brave, even when she knew it would upset him. _Especially_ when it would upset him, but it was too dangerous for her to ignore. Like when he got his Firebolt.

What would he have done without her? And how could he think she'd ever want him, the way he now longed for her? The way he _ached_ for her? She never would. He didn't deserve her to.

But could he make amends?

There was plenty of time. He could love away all his misdeeds, he was sure of that, if she might give him the chance. He would spend the rest of his life doing it, if that was what it took. He could prove he was worthy of her. If she could forgive him, maybe, just maybe, he could forgive himself. And that was where it would start.

So that's why he was here. To practice _forgiveness._

He scanned the crowd of straw hats and orange pantaloons, looking for the right one. He was naturally looking for the biggest, fattest boy he could find. But when he eventually spotted Dudley Dursley he was shocked by the young man he saw. Dudley had lost a lot of weight and, by his solitary stance, all his friends. Piers Polkiss was standing awkwardly nearby, still as rat-faced as ever. But there was obvious distance. Dudley wasn't the same bloke Harry had left at Privet Drive.

Or maybe he was, and _that_ Dudley had been different to the one who'd tormented Harry since he was a baby.

Harry made his way over. When Dudley clocked him, Harry almost went for his wand. Dudley looked like he'd seen a ghost and reacted as if to attack. But when he saw that Harry was quite alive, quite solid, he actually _grinned_ at him. It was a genuine one, too. In spite of everything, a decade or more of tormenting, Harry found himself glad to see it. He grinned in response.

"Hey...Big D," said Harry, tentatively.

Dudley pulled his shirt, slightly abashed. His clothes were practically hanging off him. "Not so big these days. What are you doing here?"

"I saw the Smeltings lot in town," said Harry. "I thought I'd come by, see if you were here. See how you were doing."

Dudley looked ashamed. Harry knew he was thinking he didn't deserve his courtesy. Harry agreed, but Hermione's voice in his head was making him charitable.

"You fancy grabbing a coffee? My shout."

Dudley smiled at him. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Harry and Dudley left the ceremony. Being London, the nearest coffee shop was barely a latte cup's throw away. It wasn't one of the big chains, but a little indie venture with pouffes and bean bag chairs in place of sensible furniture. Harry coughed up the extortionate amount for a shot of exotic coffee and lukewarm steamed milk and settled down for what he expected to be a very awkward chat with his cousin.

Dudley didn't look well. Harry could tell that. He had the drawn, gaunt look of someone who'd lost a lot of weight in short space of time. His eyes were deep-sunk and dark now, his cheekbones visible through thin skin. Harry didn't want to, but he felt a bit sorry for him.

"So...how've you been?" he asked. Telling him he looked like shit didn't seem the right way to go.

"Oh, you know, getting by," Dudley replied. Harry thought he sounded like a forty-year-old ex-convict or something. And he thought _he'd_ sounded haunted these days.

"Er...congrats on graduating...and stuff."

"Cheers," said Dudley, half-smiling. "Congrats on not getting killed."

Harry actually grinned at this. "Thanks. I tried my best to, though!"

"I'm glad you didn't."

Harry totally didn't know how to do this. Dudley was on the same list as Voldemort, Snape and Malfoy. Harry wasn't equipped to deal with this incarnation. But that was why he was here, and by the sounds of it, Dudley was in a bit of bother that way himself.

"I never got a proper chance to say thanks for saving my arse from that wraith-thing," said Dudley suddenly. "Mum and Dad...you know what they're like. Didn't want me to...and everything. But I tried to. Just didn't know what to say. We'd...you know...never been like that."

"It was a Dementor," said Harry, searching for familiarity to ground him. Merlin, it said something if talking about a Dementor would ground you! "And don't worry about it. I wasn't about to let it suck out your soul, was I?"

"Was that what it was doing?" said Dudley, slightly nauseous. "You might have let it. Probably didn't think I _had_ a soul for it to take. Wouldn't have blamed you. Me and my mates were proper arseholes to you. But...well, cheers for that."

"No problem."

"It fucked me up," said Dudley. He nursed his coffee. "I don't think I've slept properly for the last couple of years. I just keep seeing...stuff. Remembering what it did. What _does_ it do?"

Harry shifted in his seat. Feeling sorry for Dudley was such an alien emotion. "Dementors suck positive emotion out of a person. They use it as a food. Then, as if getting the most delicious dessert ever, they suck out a person's soul."

"Can you stop it?"

"I did with the spell you saw," said Harry. "It drives them away. But they make you feel like you'll never be happy again. And if you've had bad things happen to you, they can affect you really badly."

"They must have hurt you too, then?" said Dudley, genuinely concerned.

"They made me faint once."

"Not surprised, all the shit you've been through," said Dudley. "Seeing your parents killed and stuff. And there's me worrying about losing boxing matches and letting down Mum and Dad. Nothing compared to you, really."

"No, I've pretty much been though the mill," Harry agreed.

"Least you've got that girlfriend," said Dudley. "What was her name... _Her-me-own_ , or however you say it."

Harry's heart stopped, skipped, then stopped again. What was Dudley on about. He was grinning guiltily.

"Sorry, I used to open your mail," he said bashfully. "Or read your letters when you weren't looking. I sometimes wished I was going to wizard school myself. And this Her-me-own sounded really nice. Always signing her letters with _love Hermione_. Be nice to have someone sending love to you all the time."

Harry's heart began to race. Had _that_ been what Hermione had been doing? Sending him her _love_? Did Dudley have the right of it? He wanted to believe his cousin, to give him credit for the first time in his life. His head went ballistic at the idea.

"You pronounce it _Her-my-on-ee_ ," said Harry. He couldn't bring himself to correct Dudley by saying she wasn't his girlfriend. It was a little white lie. Dudley would never know.

"Well, she sounded nice however you say her name," Dudley replied.

"She is, she's great" said Harry. His heart felt like it swelled to twice its size just thinking of her. "How about you? Any special lady in Big D's life?"

"Oh, no," said Dudley. He had turned a shade of scarlet. "Truth is...now please don't say anything to Mum and Dad...I don't really like girls."

Harry felt like Dudley had Stunned him. He was actually stunned. He took a steadying breath.

"Oh...well, nothing wrong with that is there?"

Dudley seemed to relax. He grinned at Harry. "You don't think so? Look, Harry, I'm sorry I was such a prick to you. You're alright, you know?"

"Thanks, D," said Harry, uncertainly. " _So_...any special _guy_ in your life?"

Dudley grinned shyly. "Well...Smeltings _is_ an All Boys School. _Induction_ is tough. I'd have preferred Stonewall High and getting my head flushed down the bog, for sure. Me and Piers have messed around a bit. Don't think he wants to go serious though. His parents are proper religious."

"I can see how that might be a problem," said Harry. He felt this was way more information than he was capable of processing at once. He needed a get out route. He'd have to lie again. "Look, D, I have to be making a move. The missus is waiting for me in...you know... _wizard London_. I just wanted to see if you were doing okay, and you are, so I'm going to go now."

"Okay, thanks, Harry," said Dudley. He offered his hand, and Harry shook it. "Thanks for the coffee...and everything else. I hope we see each other again."

"Yeah...me too...Diddykins!"

"Shut up, Potter!"

The two cousins exchanged a laugh and a grin and Harry left the coffee shop before things got even more bizarre.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn't too far away. Harry dived down a side alley to don his Invisibility Cloak before entering the pub. The busy residents of London would notice a vanishing boy, even if they thought he was just part of an illusionists' street show. Harry entered the pub and eased his way to the back, out into the little rear courtyard. He had to wait a few minutes for the wall to be opened, and then cleverly dart past the elderly witch and wizard who entered the archway. But he eventually found himself on Diagon Alley and struck out for Gringotts.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

He spotted Ron's shock of red hair a good distance off. He was striding along the street away from the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. They must have a new broom on display or something. That was familiar Ron behaviour. What _wasn't_ so familiar were the curly bangs of blonde hair covering part of his arm, where it was around the shoulders of a girl at his side.

A girl who wasn't _Hermione_.

An anger rose in Harry such as he'd never known. In all the pursuit of Horcruxes, the fight with Voldemort, even the spats with Snape and Malfoy, Harry had never felt such a caustic hatred within himself as he did now. And it was channelled at his oldest friend. And, for once, Harry wasn't sorry or reticent about it. What the hell was Ron doing?

He was damned sure going to find out.

Ducking down, he stole along the street after them. He kept to one side of the thoroughfare, but he was so incensed he didn't notice he was knocking over displays and stalls outside shops on that side. He had eyes only for Ron and the girl he was pulling so tight to him. Other shoppers jumped in surprise as things continued to topple over, but Harry was not to be deterred.

Just then, Ron and the girl stopped. She turned and now Harry could see her face. To be fair, she was quite pretty. Slightly older than Ron, but only by a couple of years. She was his type, classically pretty. Nice eyes, full lips. Her nose was central. Harry would do something about _that_. Who the fuck was this bitch to be causing Ron to cheat on Hermione?

What was he saying? This wasn't her fault, it was _his_. Ron had the best, most amazing girl on his arm and he was cheating on her with this cutesy little slag. Hold on, he might be jumping the gun. People hugged all the time. They dry humped and flirted and it was all pretty innocent. It wasn't as if she was kissing him or anything.

Then she kissed him. Right on the mouth. With tongues. And he kissed her back. And grabbed her shapely ass for good measure.

Harry reacted before he even knew what he was doing.

Had he been sensible, he might have seen a bright flash to his left, and wondered what it was. But he wasn't, so he didn't. He was seeing red. Red hair. And his wand was out before he even felt his hand go for it. But he didn't curse Ron, he aimed his curse right for that blonde slut.

He couldn't even remember what spell he cast. It might have been Stupefy, or _Immobulus_. He didn't know or, frankly, care. Either way, the force of the spell was so great, due to Harry's limitless ire, that the girl was slammed back against the window of Madam Malkin's behind, so hard that the glass cracked in the pane.

And _still_ Harry didn't care.

"Seren! What the -"

Ron called out, shock and surprise evident. This didn't diminish, only increased, as he saw Harry throw off his Invisibility Cloak and advance on him, wand still raised and irrepressible anger coursing through every sinew of his being. It was sweeping off him like a charged force. It made Ron's hair stick up on end. Ron raised his wand into the new defensive position he'd been taught at the Auror Academy.

Harry cared nothing for whatever that pussy thing was Ron that was doing with his wand. He flicked his own wand so fast even Dumbledore in his prime would have missed it. _Expelliarmus_ was cast non-verbally. Harry caught Ron's wand with his free hand and threw it at his feet as he continued to advance on him. Ron bent to retrieve his wand. Harry saw him shaking as he did so.

"Leave it," said Harry lowly, impossibly dangerously. If tone of voice could be weaponised, Harry's now would be a twelve-foot spear with the sharpest edge in history. Ron backed away and cowered under the awning of the shop behind. Harry had never seen such terror in his once-friend's eyes. Harry was unmoved at the sight. It was right to be there.

"H-harry...this isn't what it looks like..."

"Then explain it," said Harry. He wasn't speaking in his own voice. This was new to him. He'd never felt such loathing before. Ever. Never felt more the murderer that he truly was. His voice reflected it and Ron felt every nuance, every new inflection as though Harry were cursing him with words alone. "And if you say anything that I think will make you upset _her,_ Ron, I swear to god I will hurt you. I will _make_ you hurt, as you're hurting _her._ "

Ron looked at Harry anew. He understood. He knew what Harry was feeling. He didn't know where it had come from, or how it had got there, but he could see it clear as day. It was immensely powerful. He could see what Harry felt for Hermione. And Ron was terrified of it. Terrified of being the target of it.

"I...I'm sorry, Harry. It...just, sort of, happened. Please...Harry...don't..."

Ron was babbling and in Harry's incessantly angry mind this made things worse. He wasn't even pretending, or making excuses. He was pleading like some sodding girl. Not even _admitting_ this grossest of misconducts, when Harry had seen it with his own eyes. Who was this fucking clown that he'd once called his best friend? This utter _coward_. Harry didn't recognise the punk cowering on his knees before him, begging for mercy.

He was going to curse him.

But a voice whispered to him. And it didn't belong to any member of the massive crowd that had gathered to watch proceedings. It was Hermione, loud and clear, in his mind. It was trying to talk him down. In a moment of hearing her voice, Harry began to calm. He took a deep, steadying breath. Then lowered his wand. He wouldn't curse Ron. Hermione wouldn't want him to. So he'd listen to her.

The then flashes came like a lightening storm.

Harry looked around. Cameras, a dozen of them, were clicking and exploding in his direction. _Oh Merlin_ , this would all be front page news by the morning. Harry Potter, returned from exile. And in what a way! Everyone would be reading this story.

Everyone. Including Hermione.

Oh my days! Harry had to go to her now. He had no more excuses. When this broke, she would need him. What was he saying, it was the other way round. _He'd_ need _her,_ if she'd take him in. What would she do when she found out about this? A part of Harry wondered if she already knew. What if she and Ron had split up, and he had just moved on? That would make Harry such a dick.

But Ron had looked so guilty. No, he was cheating. On Hermione.

_Ron was the dick._

Harry had to leave, right now. He raced over and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, threw it over himself, to the amassed gasps and raced away down the street. Once out of sight of the catcalls and questions of the journalists he span and Disapparated. His last thought was a positive one, despite everything.

For he would see Hermione soon.

* * *

Hermione didn't really know what to make of her day.

It had started normally enough. Her two Gryffindor Prefects, Jessica Jones and Angus Hansen, were a very zealous pair and insisted on daily briefings of the day's tasks. Hermione wasn't against this in principle, but as normal days tended to roll into one another, the conversations were already getting repetitive. She decided to make a weekly schedule for them both to follow and had spent a free period after her first lesson, Arithmancy, putting this together. She hoped this would stop them pestering her at breakfast every morning.

She had enough of that from Ginny.

For Ginny seemed to want to talk to her _all the time_. And this was mostly about Harry.

Now, with anyone else, Hermione would have happily indulged this particular topic until the Hippogriffs came home. Especially now that she fancied Harry silly. But Ginny seemed to want to give Hermione a blow-by-blow account of her brief fling with Harry. Hermione was glad this wasn't _literal_ \- she didn't think she could have stomached that. But still, Ginny wanted to go over every kiss, every embrace, every time Harry had _nearly_ touched her _down there_ and how she would so have let him. And more. And how she'd tried to brush against _him_ to make him go further with her. The whole thing left Hermione exasperated, angry, and with one profound, overriding sensation.

She fucking _hated_ Ginny Weasley.

Like, not even joking. She fucking hated her. She'd _always_ hated her. She couldn't stand the little slut.

Even since she'd tried to call her out for trying to know something about Quidditch a couple of years back, Hermione had wanted to hex Ginny's knickers permanently _on_. She'd be livid at that! No more random fingering for you, Ginny! Slag! She'd actually tried to belittle Hermione to _Harry_! Nice try! Harry had seen right through it.

Actually no, he hadn't. Hermione's heart sagged a bit. Harry had actually seemed buoyed by the support. She couldn't really blame him, She had been so off with him most of that year. She always seemed ready to have a go at him, it had played him right into Ginny's hands. And they knew what to do. They'd been on half the boys in Gryffindor Tower for practice.

Why had Hermione been so bad to him that year? She tried to remember. Oh yeah, it was after the Department of Mysteries mishap. She'd let him down by getting cursed by Dolohov. That was when she first thought she wasn't good enough to be with him. He needed her, and she'd gone and fallen in the battle. What sort of partner did that? The runes had told her where she was going wrong. She thought she could _partner_ him, not _defend_ him. She mistranslated them in her exam. And when the practical test came she failed miserably.

She had failed Harry. She couldn't be his partner.

She sighed heavily. That's why she drew away from him. He needed a partner, an equal, someone worthy. And Hermione spectacularly proved she was none of these things. Even though she'd tried so hard to be...and they were getting so close in their Fifth Year. She was almost thinking they might be...that Harry might think...he met her on Valentine's Day that year, after all, even though he was on a date with Cho. She remembered how thrilled she'd been when he turned up. He'd left his date to see her. That had to mean something, didn't it?

But, for whatever reason, it didn't go any further.

Hermione remembered being so beside herself with worry that Summer. It was worse than the previous one, when she'd kissed him for the first time and spent the entire holiday wondering what he'd thought about it, and what he would do when they saw each other next. If he'd been dwelling on it every waking moment, as she had.

But, of course, Harry had seen Cedric killed and Voldemort reborn just prior. A little peck on the cheek couldn't really compete with that for cerebral concern. If only she'd kissed him properly...

For she almost did.

She'd wanted to all year. She absolutely loved those Rita Skeeter stories. They called her _'Harry's steady girlfriend'_. Merlin, did she love to read that! She cut every article from every paper and magazine and hid them secretly in her trunk, fishing them out at night and thrilling at the possibilities. She remembered lying in bed, night after night, wondering if Harry was thinking about them, too. If he was seeing the truth in them that she was and if tomorrow would _finally_ be the day when he got up the courage to ask her out. She got so excited at the prospect that she barely slept. She would absolutely have said yes, when he actually asked. Because he was bound to, wasn't he? When he realised everyone was right about them. She could have gone around Hogwarts as Harry Potter's girlfriend and she would have been the happiest girl ever to walk the halls.

But, for some reason, it never happened.

And the realisation hit her like a Bludger. _Just how long had she actually liked Harry?_

It was a curious thought. At least since Fourth Year, clearly. But no, it was before that. Remember that ride on Buckbeak? How _close_ had Harry held her? Oh my god, she loved pressing into him like that. It had made her insides squirm in the most ticklish of ways. And lower down, too. Even then.

So Third year, then. Wait...what about that hug after she was revived after being Petrified by the basilisk? That was her first proper hug with a boy. _No, wait...I had one before that_. Oh Merlin...that was with Harry, _too_. Just before he went for Quirrell. In _first year!_

_Have I just always fancied Harry?_

She rather thought she might have.

She sighed, and slumped down in her seat, depressed at the revelation. So she'd always fancied Harry, never done anything about it, and plumped for his best mate instead? She felt a bit ashamed of herself at that thought. She was better than that. That's what she'd forgotten during her Sixth Year. She'd been afraid she wasn't enough for Harry. She realised how scary a boyfriend he would be to have. She'd be in mortal danger herself, and in constant danger of losing _him_ , one way or another. That was scary.

But it was more scary that, up until that night at the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had been _willing_ to take that risk. It was only after her failure that she changed her mind. Not her _feelings,_ though. Just her mind. Harry needed someone strong enough beside him, the risk of failure was simply too high. Hermione couldn't afford to take that steep a chance. It could have been the difference between a pass and fail... _at life_. She couldn't risk letting Harry down like that, not again, when the stakes had been raised so high.

So she'd backed away from Harry, withdrawn. Consciously stopped helping him so much. Didn't offer her counsel or opinions as she once had. She couldn't risk being wrong again or steering Harry off course. And if he questioned her, wondered why she was so distant with him she had the perfect excuse. She was pining over Ron, she was heartsick over his knocking off Lavender Brown. Harry wouldn't question that. Even when he tried to comfort her over it, when he'd seemed to make a first move for her - and the opportunity was at its greatest - she shut him down.

It struck to her heart now how utterly stupid she'd been to think any of it, to miss that wonderful chance when it finally presented itself. It would have been natural, everyone would have seen and accepted it. She never thought _she'd_ be the one who blocked the next step. But there it was, she'd done it. She pushed Harry away, right into the open arms - and constantly open legs - of that tart Ginny Weasley.

She threw aside the Head Boy applications she was sifting through and called it a night.

It was a day that had started normally, had a few bizarre revelations, and had ended on this shameful note.

But the next day would be far, far more trying.

It started at breakfast. There was excited chatter when Hermione entered the Great Hall. Oddly, most eyes turned to her as she walked in. Something was going on. Had she put her robes on backwards? Was her untameable hair that bad this morning? She'd done her best with it. Little conversations hissed like wildfires around the room. Hermione couldn't make out the details. But, for some weird reason, she couldn't help but think she was involved somehow.

Then she spotted Hagrid. He was acting like a sort of barrier to the main doors. There were what looked like reporters outside, trying to get in. What was going on? Curiosity stirred, she wheeled around and ambled over to see what all the fuss was about.

It wasn't her best move.

As soon as the reporters clocked her, they erupted. Questions and shouts and calls all flew her way. Such was the cacophony, she couldn't make anything out. Hagrid's warning barks didn't help. But she could see the cameras flashing. She ducked away modestly, but she was sort of used to a little attention by now. But, as she looked on, she realised this was more than a little. Something big was going on.

And big meant Harry.

She strode over to the doors and faced up to the crowd.

"What you doin'?" called Hagrid. "Don' answer anythin'. It's all just lies!"

"What is?" asked Hermione.

"Miss Granger! A quote?" cried one reporter.

"Is it true? Your thoughts?" said another.

"Are you angry? Upset?"

"Are you and Harry Potter a secret item?"

_What the hell was all this? What was going on?_

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," said Hermione, haughtily. "You'll have to explain -"

"NO, Hermione!" cried Hagrid. "Don' _listen!_ "

"To what?"

"To this!" said a hearty reporter. He had snaked underneath Hagrid's arms and thrust a copy of the Daily Prophet into Hermione's hands. She took it and read the headline.

_Harry Potter - Out of Exile_

Her heart skipped a beat at the words. But it stopped dead at the by-line...and the accompanying picture.

_Potter hexes oldest friend! See Page 2 for all the details of the Diagon Duel!_

Hermione's eyes were wide as she looked at the picture. It was undeniable. There was Harry, wand out, looking more furious than Hermione could ever remember seeing him. Ron was cowered beneath a display rail outside Madam Malkin's, looking utterly petrified. And in the background...that girl. The one from the Leaky Cauldron that day. Flat out against the ground.

Had Harry _attacked_ her? It certainly looked that way. But why?

The reporter filled in the obvious blanks.

"So, is your relationship with Trainee Auror Weasley over? Has the affair been going on long?"

"Gerrout!" yelled Hagrid, grabbing the reporter and flinging him bodily from the castle.

_Affair?_ Was that what this was all about? Was Ron _cheating_ on her? With this girl from Auror Training? Had Harry seen it, stepped in and _cursed_ them for it?

Her heart beat wildly at the possibility. She should be mad, angry at Ron. Angry at the girl. But she couldn't think about them. All she could focus on was Harry, coming out of hiding to defend her honour. To defend _her._ In front of _everyone_. She felt light headed again. It was useful, it made her look emotional in front of the reporters.

"I-I can't answer any questions right now," she said, feigning upset. She felt she was quite convincing. "Please, just give me some privacy...at this difficult time."

"You heard her!" Hagrid boomed. "Now clear off the lot o' yer!"

Whether it was a half-giant yelling at them, or some hitherto untapped sense of chivalry, but the reporters actually backed away and Hagrid slammed the Main Doors shut in their faces. The whole hall seemed to shake with the impact. Then he turned to Hermione.

"You all righ' there, Miss Hermione?"

"I don't know, Hagrid. This is the first I've heard of any of this."

"No don' you go believin' any o' that rubbish," said Hagrid. "Its jus' paper talk. Garbage."

"But the picture, Hagrid! It's damning!"

Hagrid looked at it as Hermione thrust the paper under his nose. He seemed less able to excuse the story with the moving image right in front of him. He didn't seem to have the words.

"I think I'm just going to go back up to my room," said Hermione. "Thanks for looking out for me, Hagrid."

She smiled at him and he returned it awkwardly through his bushy beard.

Hermione vaulted the steps to her dorm at a canter. She had to get away from the crowds, she had to think about this, prepare herself before she faced them. For there would be questions, plenty of them. She had lots of them herself. She'd appreciate someone telling _her_ the answers, for all she could do was speculate like everyone else.

So what were the facts? Hermione had to be methodical about this. She could do that. She'd start with the article itself. It _did not_ make pleasant reading. Or at least, it _shouldn't have_ , had everything been proper and normal in Hermione's life. Which it wasn't. If it was to be believed, Ron had been on dalliances with _several_ girls, and the photographers were following him to catch more juicy snaps in preparation for a major story.

Then Harry had come along and blown all those ideas out of the water. No story would be bigger than _this_.

Hermione read on, astonished. So Ron _had_ kissed this other girl, and Harry _had_ come out of nowhere to curse them for it. Or at least, curse her. Ron seemed to have escaped Harry's wrath. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that. It all seemed a little unreal. How had Harry come to be there anyway? Back among wizards. And why had he felt so compelled to reveal himself? Were these the actions of a concerned friend, or something more?

Hermione couldn't think straight for that possibility. But for Harry to be that mad...to hex a stranger...it must mean something. This time, it had to. Hermione got up, paced fast around the room, an excited ball of energy.

Harry had defended her honour. At the cost of returning to the world. And with more front page headlines to boot. There was no other way to look at it. Hermione balled her fists with the enormity of it, digging her fingernails into her palms. Something had to relieve the intensity of what she was feeling. _Harry had defended her honour_. Not only that, he'd defended her against Ron. He'd come back, exposed himself to the world, _for her._

Had he positioned himself as Ron's rival? Was that why he'd done it?

Hermione wanted to yelp, to cry out, a mixture of joy and frustration. She jumped onto her bed. She bounced on it. She had a thousand questions and possibilities and scenarios racing through her head. She needed an answer to every one of them. Right now. And amidst all this, she saw the light at the end of the hole she thought she might never claw her way out of.

Ron had cheated on her. It was her way out. It was over.

A wave of joyous relief swept over her that made her giddy. Ron had given her a way out. But more than that, if he'd cheated on her it must mean he liked someone else. Hermione wouldn't be breaking his heart after all. It was almost too clean, too perfect. He would have somewhere else to go. The break-up might even be _amicable_! They might even be able to be friends again. She thought she'd like that. It was an outcome she'd never have predicted a few hours ago.

And then the new possibility came up. Harry. And her. Potential...stuff. Where was he? What was he doing? She had to think he was still thinking about her, especially now. After all this. She might have squealed at the prospect, if she was that kind of girl. Which was normally wasn't. But she allowed herself one as she flipped over and bit her pillow.

It was all getting a bit much.

She had to compose herself. She had classes to attend, stares and questions to field. Then this bothersome Head Boy position to fill. She didn't really want to. She quite liked having her own space within the castle. She'd gotten used to it. She didn't fancy sharing with anyone. And the potential candidates were all a bit wet. But she'd have to choose one. It was weird, like being on a dating show or something. What would he think to being picked, whichever one she chose? He might think she fancied him a bit. She would have to shut that down immediately. But she'd deal with that when the time came.

For the day itself was uncomfortable enough. Stares and whispers followed Hermione everywhere. From class to class, down every hallway and corridor, even at lunch. Though, noticeable for its absence, was Hermione's meal time shadow. Ginny Weasley was giving her a wide berth. This was an unexpected bonus.

She could imagine Ginny's reaction to all this. After all, it had been Hermione who persuaded her to give up on ever getting back with Harry. Now it looked as if Hermione had moved into her place. Pushed her aside to make a play for Harry, herself. This might not have been so far from the truth, even if Hermione hadn't meant it that way at the time. Ginny could think that if she wanted. To hell with her. If Hermione ever got what _she wanted_ , Ginny would be upset with her anyway.

_Might as well get that ball rolling while we're at it_ , Hermione thought. She had been wracked with guilt about hurting Ron's feelings by splitting up with him. But she couldn't give two fucks about what Ginny felt.

So the day passed with Hermione as the centre of attention, the centre of a love triangle with famous boys again. Well, _with Harry_ , again. There were bound to be more stories about that in the coming days. She wondered if Harry would see them, _finally think_ about them. Maybe he already was. She couldn't wrap her head around what his reaction might be to them. She could only hope it would be positive.

She had strange visions of Harry going around hexing reporters for saying bad things about her. Her heart beat madly at the idea. Maybe he'd start with the ones now camped outside the gates to Hogwarts, waiting for the next scoop. She fancied that all she'd have to do would be scream harassment, maybe pose for some teary pictures and Harry would come running to her aid.

And she wanted to squeal again.

But she didn't. She was in the Great Hall thinking this. Sat with Professor McGonagall, still filtering Head Boy candidates. She seemed pretty unenthused about them, too.

"Christopher Parsons has merit," said McGonagall. "Just been made new Captain of Hufflepuff's Quidditch Team, a member of the Gobstones Club, and he was a Prefect last year."

"Maybe he has a bit _too_ much going on," said Hermione, considering the application form. "Aloysius Butler seems okay. Top marks last year for Gryffindor. Just joined the Alchemy Society. He'd be respected."

A roll of thunder clapped overhead. It was the first storm of Autumn. The reporters would be getting wet. Hermione grinned mischievously at the image. It distracted her. She didn't hear the doors to the Great Hall open. The thunder masked it from McGonagall, too, who simply continued talking

"I'd tend to go against having the Head Boy and Girl from the same house," said McGonagall. "Unless the candidates were both _outstanding_."

"Then do you have room for a last-minute applicant?"

Hermione heard the voice, felt her heart stop, then kick into high gear as she looked up to see its owner, scarcely able to believe it could be true

For there, in the doorway to the Great Hall, slightly bedraggled from the rain, was Harry Potter, throwing his name into the ring.


	8. The First Night Back

"Harry? _Harry!"_

The first one was a question. The second an exclamation.

There was a third one, too, but it got lost in Harry's shoulder.

For Hermione had leapt up at the sight of him, raced the entire length of the Great Hall and enveloped him in a bear hug so tight that Harry was actually winded a little. Not that he'd dream of telling her to stop. He wasn't going to when it looked like she was about to steamroller him, so he wasn't about to now she had clobbered him liked this.

What was a little lack of breath, to be holding in your arms, the girl you cared for most in the world anyway?

The best part for Harry was how insanely _right_ this felt. Straight away. It drove away all his irrational fears of awkwardness. He'd spent days, maybe the last few weeks, building up the new, and impossibly lovely, vision of Hermione in his head. And his heart was overflowing with thoughts of her. Part of him wondered just how he'd react when he finally saw her again. Would it be weird, would it make him different around her? He'd hated to think that. It would put distance between them when he was trying to do the very opposite.

But here he was, hugging her deeply in the Great Hall. People were watching, they were whispering. They were too shocked by his appearance to be snickering. But Harry didn't care one bit about them. They didn't exist. Only Hermione did ... and _she_ didn't seem to mind this, either.

Harry rather thought he'd lose his mind at the situation.

For Hermione was no different than he remembered her. More beautiful, maybe, but that was only because he'd cast off the shroud over his eyes, that had prevented him from looking at her like a _real_ girl before. He didn't think he'd want to look at anything else now. Ever again. But she was still Hermione. And all these new things Harry now felt for her hadn't changed her in his eyes. The reality of the situation flooded him, even shocked him slightly

He'd actually felt this way about her for _a long_ time. Perhaps not as intensely as he did now, but the basis of it seemed to have always been there, just out of sight below his threshold of understanding. There had simply been something so illicit and forbidden about the notion that Harry had boxed it behind a high wall and trained himself to ignore it. But now that fortress was blown open and the truth was staring Harry in the face, the realisation staggering him.

These feelings weren't _new_ at all.

He'd just never allowed himself to throw that tag of _more than friends_ around her neck. There had been too many pitfalls, too many potentially sticky obstacles. There was Ron, Ginny, his own misguided sense of heroism that wanted to take danger onto himself alone. There were the dark distractions of Voldemort, Snape and Malfoy, the horror years and punishing Summers spent under the Dursleys iron boot. There were the deaths of Sirius and Cedric. And of Dumbledore. All things to keep him from any source of solace and happiness.

And there had been an ocean of it at his side all along. One he was now swimming in as he hugged its owner.

It was a hug he didn't want to end. But it been going on for several minutes already and _now_ people were beginning to chatter. He gently disengaged himself from Hermione and looked happily into her face. Her eyes were unfathomably bright. Harry felt blinded by them.

"Hiya, Hermione," he said grinning at her.

"Hi, Harry," she returned, smiling warmly at him.

Harry felt inclined to look away. He felt unworthy of the affection Hermione was displaying for him. And at the same time, a tiny part of him hoped that maybe her feelings for him were just as strong as his had become for her. How this might have happened, Harry could barely guess at. But there was something new there. She'd never looked at him quite like this before. He felt humbled by it, and impossibly excited by the wondrous prospects it proposed.

But he checked himself quickly, before blurting out the secret he'd been carrying for her just lately. Hermione's response to seeing him was pretty natural, considering what was going on. Harry had been in exile for nearly two months, she was glad to see him. He'd be concerned if she wasn't, and more than a little upset. But, also, Ron was cheating on her. It was all over the papers. She must feel so hurt, so betrayed and alone. And Harry was her only other real friend. Her parents had said as much.

He was all she had now. She was directing all her emotion at him. That was likely all this was. She needed comfort and he was her only likely source of it, the only one she could rely on. Harry was pleased enough with this, but his hearty spirits took a bit of a nose-dive nonetheless.

"I assume you've seen the _Prophet_ ," said Harry.

Hermione shrugged and smiled bracingly. "Did the reporters outside give it away?"

"Well, they are pretty hard to miss," Harry replied.

"You seeemed to have managed it. How did you get past them without causing a stampede?"

"My Dad's old cloak," Harry explained. "It's seems to have no end of uses!"

Hermione grinned again and nodded. "Shall we take a walk?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Hermione smiled warmly. Harry's insides squirmed again. They were trying to resist his own denials.

"Let me just fob off McGonagall and we'll go."

"Need a hand? I can be quite persuasive."

"I know...I saw the pictures."

Harry shifted guiltily, but Hermione didn't look angry. Harry was buoyed by her look and followed her to the High Table. Professor McGonagall had been watching them intently the entire time. Neither had noticed, but her curious gaze was directed at them both as they approached. Harry found her look difficult to read. Pleased would be the wrong thing to say, but it was the one thing Harry wanted to believe. So he did.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry as they reached the table.

"Mister Potter. It is good to see you again. And still in one piece, I see."

"Just about," said Harry. "Its easier when Dark Wizards aren't trying to kill me."

"Indeed," said McGonagall sternly. She didn't share Harry's cynical wit.

"Professor," said Hermione. "Harry and I haven't seen each other for ages. Would you mind us postponing going through the applications for a bit?"

Harry was struck with an odd impression, as though Hermione was shyly asking her parents to let a boyfriend stay over for the night. It was as if she expected to be turned down.

"I thought you might ask that," said Professor McGonagall. "Of course we can take a break. Though, if Mister Potter was being serious, I feel the contest is as good as over."

Hermione span to Harry, beaming broadly at him. She clearly had a lot of time for that idea. "Well, Harry...were you?"

There was something so hopeful in her words that Harry stumbled over his response.

"I, er...how could I be?" he managed to say. "I'm not a student anymore."

"True," said McGonagall. "But some rules can be bent. Others broken. Maybe we need a _figure-_ Head Boy, just to set an example in these challenging times."

Harry blushed bashfully. He didn't know what sort of an example he could set. Unless he just followed Hermione and copied what she did. That would probably do.

Professor McGonagall seemed to sense his unease. "We can discuss this all later. I'll see what the other teachers think. I doubt there will be much resistance. You two run along now. We can talk again once you've caught up."

"Thanks, Professor," said Hermione. Then she did something that took Harry completely by surprise. She slipped her hand into his and led him away from the Great Hall. His mind was focused now, concentrating solely on the point of contact between his skin and hers.

It was electric.

He was amazed at how simply and easily Hermione's fingers slid between his, as if they'd been designed to fit there. They'd held hands before, of course, but Harry was generally dragging her away from some life-threatening danger or another. Harry felt that this situation was pretty life-threatening, too, in its own sort of way. It might certainly kill him, if his heart rate didn't slow a little. Hermione's palm was so soft, so cool. And he was sure she was moving her fingers against his skin. The movements were almost imperceptible, as though she were trying to do it without him noticing she was. But he noticed.

And it was driving him wild.

Harry naturally thought Hermione would lead him to the Great Lake. They'd constantly gone there for privacy before. But then, Harry accepted, privacy was unlikely today, not with a score of journalists clamouring for a story outside the gates to Hogwarts. Harry could almost see the headlines in the morning papers - he and Hermione strolling hand-in-hand around the school grounds. Ron would see it, he'd be livid.

Harry almost tried to guide Hermione outside. Let Ron have a taste of his own medicine.

But anger and vengeance were far from his thoughts. Hermione was holding his hand, there was the promise of alone time with her. If Ron thought he could intrude on _that_ , from this far away, not to mention without having a clue he was doing it, he could well and truly go and fuck his own arse.

Hermione didn't guide them towards the lake, or even out of the castle at all. Instead, she led Harry upstairs. A few students spotted them and did double-takes ( _Was that really him?; No, can't have been...can it?_ ) and some of the portraits followed them through each other's frames for a good old gossip later. Harry couldn't honestly say he knew where they were going. It was sort of towards the Headteacher's office but Hermione had veered off down a side corridor Harry didn't know.

She stopped outside a door with a golden knocker and keyhole. Hermione fished the key from her pocket and opened the door to the very large, handsome room. There were several desks and workstations around the room, a tottering row of dark, oak bookcases to one side and a large fireplace against one wall. Two comfortable couches, much better quality than the ones in the Gryffindor Common Room, dominated the centre of the room either side of a circular glass table. There was a table of spindly instruments in one corner, a telescope near the window on one side of the room (with a star chart next to it on a side table) and a large plaque dominating the wall near the door listing all the previous Head Students of the school.

"So, these are your new digs?" asked Harry, touring the room. "It's pretty plush."

"Yeah, I like it," said Hermione. "I'm quite taken on having my own space within the castle. Though it'd be fun to share with you, if you were serious about what you said to McGonagall."

She said the last part quickly. It sounded hopeful, too, but Harry felt he might just have been hearing things the way he wanted to. Hermione seemed to have developed this new talent for making his world oddly distorted, where her meaning and his understanding weren't necessarily the same thing. This was jarring for him. They were usually on the same wavelength. He missed the ease of that.

Harry sat down and sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm really not ready to come back to study. And I couldn't be Head Boy and not be a student. No-one would accept that."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree. But as its _you_..."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Hermione sounded like one of those distant admirers. He didn't like that. He wanted her to remember who he really was. It didn't take more than three seconds.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry, I didn't mean it like that," she said. "I don't mean they should just _give_ it to you, just because of who you are. But you would have earned it if we'd stayed on...if it wasn't for, well, everything. McGonagall said Dumbledore had it mind for you."

Harry perked up. "He did?" Then Harry's mood sagged again. "He probably wouldn't have gone through with it. He took the Prefect thing away from me."

Hermione looked curiously at him. She sat on the couch next to him. "Is that how you see it? That he took it away from you?"

"Well he did. How else would I see it?"

"Didn't you say Dumbledore only made Ron a Prefect because you had so much else going on? He made it sound like he was doing you a kindness."

"He probably thought he was," said Harry. "But he took responsibility from me. It was something I could have learned from, don't you think? It could have honed my leadership skills. I think we can both agree i was sadly lacking in that department. Then that bitch Umbridge came along. We could have moved around so much more freely as Prefects. You and me could have been proper saboteurs. The DA could have done loads more."

Hermione smiled at him. There was an odd sparkle in her eyes. Harry wanted to agree with that timid, cautious part of his mind that thought maybe she was imagining all the alone time they could have had together. She wasn't thinking that, obviously, but Harry's heart thrummed lowly at what it might do if she did.

"So, if you haven't come back to spare me the ignominy of sharing my personal space with one of the other boys in the school, why have you come back?"

Harry didn't like the image Hermione was presenting one bit. Another boy, in her space. That selfish neccessity for her, this insane urge to have her just to himself surged anew in Harry's ribcage.

"I would have thought that was obvious," said Harry. Hermione swallowed lightly and briefly licked her lips. Harry was distracted by the flash of pink that was her tongue. He dragged his eyes back to hers. "You saw what I did in Diagon Alley. I thought I'd better come back, you know, to see how you were doing. You must be furious at me."

Hermione looked puzzled. "Furious? Why would you think that?"

"For creating such a scene," said Harry, guiltily. "For bringing your private business onto the front page. I'm sorry, I couldnt help it. When I saw them I just...reacted."

"Yeah, I saw _that_ ," Hermione said, a small smile darting across her face. "Why did you hex the girl, Harry? If you were that mad at what Ron was doing, why not go for him?"

"Well, I, er...sort of meant to," said Harry, abashed. "But I was so furious, really angry. I couldnt focus properly. My wand arm was shaking. It sent my spell off course and hit the girl, when I was actually aiming for Ron. Not that it really matters. They shouldn't have been doing it in the first place."

"No, that's true," said Hermione.

For the first time, she seemed sad. Harry stirred at it, a potent urge to hug her, to comfort her. But he held back. He wasn't sure she'd want him to.

"How are you...with all of it?" Harry asked tentatively. It sounded stupid. He knew all the answers. The problem was, Hermione didn't seem to be any of them. In fact, she looked slightly guilty.

"I'm actually okay," she said calmly. "That must sound awful."

"It sounds...unexpected," said Harry. He looked at her questioningly.

"Things have...changed, Harry, since you've been away," said Hermione slowly. She flicked her eyes at him, deep meaning behind her lashes. Harry knew he should have been able to read the expression, there was something important there. But it eluded him.

"What things? With you and Ron, you mean?"

Hermione nodded. Again, there was weary sadness there. "I don't love him anymore, Harry."

There was such a rush, a torrent of emotion into Harry's chest at the omission that it made him giddy a moment. He had to put a hand on the couch to covertly steady himself. It inadvertently brushed against Hermione's thigh, but she made no effort to pull away.

"When did this happen?" Harry managed to ask. He tried to sound concerned, but that sliver of hope he'd tried to conceal was plainly evident. He was sure Hermione picked up on it. Another bright flicker crossed her eyes, a hidden smile, and Harry felt his heart slam upwards as he saw it.

"It started after his family met my parents," she said. "It didn't go well. In fact, it was a disaster. I couldn't look at him the same after it. It opened up some things I'd tried to forget were there, but seeing him through my parents eyes...speaking of which - let me see."

"Excuse me? See what?"

"Your tooth, Harry. My mum told me all about it. Let me see."

"Oh, _that_ ," said Harry. He felt his cheeks flush hot. "No, its fine you don't need to..."

Hermione shifted in closer. She took his arm gently and spoke soothingly. "Harry, you're not embarrassed, are you? Not in front of _me_."

Harry looked at her. The answer was yes. He didn't want her to see his crooked new smile. It was shameful.

"It's nothing, really," said Harry evasively. "Its just a hole. Your mum did a good job."

"Then you can show me," she said brightly. "Come on, Harry. Open up for me."

Harry was startled a moment. Then he just conceded to the inevitable. He clenched his jaws together and opened his lips. Hermione bent down and peered closely.

"Its not that bad, you know," she said appraisingly. "You cant even see it much. My mum said she wont be offended if you get it fixed by magic."

"No, I couldn't do that," said Harry seriously. "It'd be like all she did for me was pointless. And it so wasn't."

Hermione laughed. "I told her you'd say that. But she said she honestly wont mind."

"You must have thought it was weird, me being at your house and everything. I know I did. Of all the places to end up. I liked your parents, though. They were really nice."

Hermione beamed at him. "They liked _you_ a lot. Especially my mum. I think you made up for much of the damage that the Weasley's did to their opinion of magic. Thank you for that."

Harry coloured again. "I was only being me."

"I know, but that was enough."

Harry wished Hermione wouldn't look at him like that, smile at him in that way. It made him feel like he was about to disintegrate, melt under her gaze.

"So...you and Ron," said Harry, redirecting the conversation. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to have to see him at some point, tell him its over," said Hermione bracingly. "That won't be pleasant."

"It is definitely finished then?"

"He kissed another girl, Harry," said Hermione. "Several more if the _Prophet_ has the right of it. What can he expect?"

"Hermione," Harry said quietly. "I'm not worried about Ron. I don't care about him. Will you be alright?"

Hermione smiled at him again. "You're sweet Harry, but I'm fine. Really. I've got you to vent on, haven't I? If you don't mind, of course."

Harry grinned. "Vent away. I've missed that Hermione Granger ire!"

"Thanks! I've missed you too, Harry."

He couldn't resist. He reached out and put his arms around her. He hugged her to him, he'd needed to since he first saw her. She gasped a little in surprise, but she didn't draw away. Instead, she snaked her arms up and curled them around his shoulders too. He drank in the scent of her hair. She smelled good. He could have bathed in it forever. After a few minutes, they gently moved apart. Both looked a little awkward.

"You could stay in the Head Boys dorm tonight," said Hermione. "We could skip dinner and just grab a load of stuff and have our own little feast up here. We have loads to catch up on."

"Yeah, I'd like that," said Harry.

"Come on, lets go and ask McGonagall."

Asking McGonagall was all of a five minute exercise. Hermione seemed so determined to have her way that Voldemort and Grindlewald combined would have struggled to refuse her. Harry was granted access to the Head Boy's room for the time being and so he and Hermione took a selection of food stuffs and a flagon of pumpkin juice from the Great Hall and disappeared back upstairs, ignoring the hushed whispers which erupted at their entrance.

They had a nice few hours catching up and eating their way through a variety of pies, cold meats and cakes. Hermione went into all the morbid details of the disastrous meeting of the Weasleys with her parents, plus all the stressful fallout, as well as filling Harry in about the media frenzy which followed his disappearance. Harry didn't like the idea of the press hounding his friends, but Hermione was more interested in hearing about Harry's trek around the country than his apologies for going in the first place.

Once Harry had recounted everything, including his unlikely visit to the Granger's dental practice in Abingdon - which Hermione insisted on being told about in painstaking detail - it came down to the outcome of it all. Harry was loathe to delve into this moment. He knew it would darken the mood, for his own had been silently slipping ever since he'd arrived back at Hogwarts.

It hadn't taken long. As soon as he'd slipped through the amassed reporters at the gates, he felt his heart tugged by the weight of bad memory. If it wasn't for the inducement of seeing Hermione, Harry would have most definitely turned around and fled again. It was too soon to be back. He'd only mentioned applying for the Head Boy position as it seemed a dramatic sort of entry, when he overhead the conversation between Head Girl and Headmistress. Whether he actually wanted the job or not was another matter.

There was the chance of alone time with Hermione that was the biggest draw. But he thought he might get some of that anyway if he just hung around for a bit. There was also the fact that if he _was_ made Head Boy it would stop anyone else having the role and keep them away from Hermione. There was incentive there. He had only been back half a day and already felt he might form a dangerous possessive streak for her company and attention.

Especially now she was more or less single again. This, Harry felt, was an important detail.

But then there was the fact that he had no inclination for returning to school and lessons and Quidditch and the rest of it. He just wasn't ready for normality just yet. He was some way from that. More than he'd realised before his return. His time away had put distance between himself and the events...but nowhere near enough. And Hermione wanted to get a clear handle on this.

"So, how are you feeling about everything now?"

She'd asked tentatively, cautiously. Testing the waters. Harry felt tested by the question. It made him look back into himself, just when he was starting to imagine things forward in time. A time where he might have some happiness. Even though he couldn't quite grasp the concept of it, or how he'd get there. Now, as Hermione pushed him, he had to accept he was little better off than when he'd left. Being away had only shrouded him. He wasn't healing at all.

Harry bowed his head. "Truthfully? I don't think I'm much better. I tried to outrun it, put distance between myself and all that happened. But I can't outrun the truth. It follows me like a shadow."

Hermione shifted closer to him on the couch. "You know you aren't alone, don't you? I'm here for you. I always have been."

"I know," said Harry, offering a half-smile. "It's just...I know what I should say, what I should feel. What everyone expects me to. What I expected me to. I just don't. I know I'm being stupidly selfish, too."

"Selfish? That's ridiculous. How could you be selfish?"

"Because I know I'm not the only one forced to kill in this war," said Harry. "Why should I be allowed to be so morose for it? And I know what everyone thinks - I killed Voldemort. I should be happy, I should be celebrating. But...I just cant. I know it had to be done. But I still took a life. It may not have been a _good_ life. But he had hopes, he had dreams, no matter how bad for us they all were. And I took them from him. You don't know what it was like, Hermione, seeing his eyes...they just went _out_. I cant explain it. I should have wanted it to happen...but when I saw it..."

"You shouldn't have _wanted_ it, Harry," said Hermione fiercely. "To _want_ to kill is far different from _having_ to kill. And you shouldn't have been burdened with either. It's his fault, not yours. He put you in that position."

"I know, but its still stupid that I feel remorse over it. I bet everyone thinks so."

"It _isn't_ stupid, Harry. Far from it. It shows you are still human, that you still care, despite everything. It shows you are still _you_. You could easily have stopped feeling. Nobody would have blamed you, after all you've been through. But you didn't. I've always been so proud of you for that. I cant begin to imagine what its been like for you, but I _can_ understand how hard its been. Just know I'm here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."

Harry wanted to just out and kiss her. The urge was almost irrepressible just then. But he held himself.

"I know that. And thanks for the offer. I just don't know if its fair to you to ask you to share my world with me. Its pretty dark in here, you know."

"All the more reason for you not to face it by yourself," said Hermione. "And you don't have to ask. I'm already in your world...and I'm here to go even deeper if you need me to. I'm not afraid."

Harry's insides flipped at the suggestion. This was approaching restricted territory. Harry wasn't sure he felt master of himself to toe the waters just yet. He had to draw away. It was difficult. It was as if there were some magnetic force pulling them gently towards one another. Resistance seemed futile.

"I know you're not," said Harry, eventually. "You might want to be sure of what you'll be letting yourself in for though. Its a pretty deep rabbit-hole. Our friendship might not be the same after it."

Hermione looked deeply at him, seemed to consider her words carefully. "Then...we'll just have to be... _something else_ ," she said softly. "Something new. But I'm not letting you suffer alone anymore. Together we can find whatever you need to fix you."

Harry seized on the out. He was actually shaking with unstoppable nerves. Escape was the only chance of respite, where he could think and sort his racing thoughts.

"I think what I need right now is some sleep," he said quickly. "It's been a long day. Besides, _someone_ has school in the morning!"

Harry nudged Hermione's shoulder teasingly. She grinned back at him.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she said. There was a tint of sadness to her voice. She didn't sound like she wanted to part just yet. "Shall I show you to your room?"

Harry blinked at her. "I'm sure I can find the way. Unless you're planning to read me a bed time story!"

"Would you like me to? There's lots of books around."

"I was _joking_ , Hermione!" said Harry. He was thrown by the unmistakable look of disappointment in her eyes. "Besides, I was thinking more along the lines of fairy tales, rather than _Advanced Transfiguration_. Though if its boring it might send me to sleep!"

Hermione looked on the verge of explaining to Harry just how un-boring Advanced Transfiguration was, but checked herself. She appeared to accept Harry was looking for a route away and gave in, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, well, goodnight then," she said. They both rose at the same time. It brought them impossibly close together. Hermione bridged the final few inches between them and wrapped Harry up in a soft, tender hug. He fluttered all over at her touch. When she spoke again, her warm breath against his neck made his insides do somersaults.

"Harry - you're not going to run away again, are you? When I wake up, you will still be here, wont you?"

Her voice was gossamer soft and that warm rush of air coating Harry's skin with every word she spoke...he could barely think for the hot senselessness sweeping over him. How he managed speech was one of the greater surprises of his life.

"If you need me to stay, I'll stay," he replied.

"What if I _want_ you to stay?" she whispered, somewhat shyly.

Harry grinned into her hair. It was as if she felt it, for she squeezed him a bit tighter.

"Then I'll _definitely_ stay for that."

"Then stay, please."

"Alright, I'll stay," said Harry.

Hermione raised her head and pressed her cheek to Harry's. She had to step on tip-toe, for Harry was a good deal taller than her. She turned her head slightly and placed a gentle kiss on his jawline. Her lips brushed against his earlobe, too. The twin sensations nearly cost Harry control of his knobbly knees. He righted himself and hoped Hermione hadn't noticed.

"Goodnight, Harry," she breathed. Her eyes were on fire. She turned and walked away from him. Harry felt colder for the loss of her embrace. He watched her until she vanished up her staircase and it wasn't until he heard the click of her bedroom door that he made his own way up to bed. Why, he didn't know.

There was _no chance_ of him getting any sleep tonight. Not after that.

* * *

Hermione lay in bed for several hours, tossing and turning, trying to right her convoluted thoughts. All the while trying to quell that thing in her chest that had risen abruptly at the sight of Harry and had been struggling to burst free ever since. It had emboldened her, made her say things she might otherwise have not. It offered things to Harry, suggested things she wouldn't have dared to. Only her logical mind kept her in check. But it was struggling.

She wasn't used to letting her heart rule her head. She wasn't anywhere as near in control of it and the lack of assuredness rattled her.

But it also excited her more energetically than anything she'd ever experienced. A huge part of her _wanted_ to give in to it, to lose control. To blindly leap into the uncertainty and possibilities and chance where they would lead. But that wasn't who she was, who she'd been her entire life. It was a safety blanket that she couldn't wantonly cast aside. It had served her well for all of her nearly nineteen years. It still had a part to play.

But where Harry was concerned, the rules of the game changed. Or at least, now they did. Any niggling doubts Hermione might have harboured about her changed feelings for him were obliterated as soon as he'd entered the Great Hall earlier that evening. Some might have called his appearance _messy_ from the inclement weather, but all she could see was a carelessly tousled, wet, handsome vision of Harry framed in the doorway. When she threw herself at him, she used the pressure as an excuse to satiate a sudden burning between her legs and a throbbing in her breasts. She was just shy of dry-humping him. If Harry noticed, he certainly hadn't minded.

That had stirred dangerous things in her, and as she led him upstairs to her private dorm her thoughts were all of a sordid sort. She'd had one of _those dreams_ about Harry in the past that was uncannily similar to the situation. The comparison wasn't lost on her, she just hoped she wouldn't lose her control as well.

Or maybe... _she did_.

She could scarcely believe it, but Harry had seemed so different around her. So much more affectionate. So _cuddly_. He'd even found a word for it, apparently, during his stay in Wales. He called it _cwtchy_. Or cuutchie. She wasn't sure of the pronunciation. He'd mastered the accent far better than she had during occasional holidays in the country when she was much younger. She imagined going there with Harry now, retracing his untroubled path through the breathtaking scenery and natural wonders he'd vividly described. She felt a pang of anguish that she hadn't been there to experience it with him. It would have been terribly romantic. Just the two of them. Anything could have happened.

And Hermione imagined it all happening in her mind now, in one go. It was close to overwhelming her.

She flipped onto her back again and stared up at the ceiling. She had to find some order in her mind. Work out why things were sat as they were. It seemed like a lot had happened in the last few hours. She knew that in reality she'd only had one conversation, albeit an in-depth one. But she'd learned a lot and confessed a lot, battled with her feelings and her burgeoning urges, and seen things in Harry's eyes, in his demeanour, that certainly _suggested_ a lot of mind-blowing things. But maybe she was just putting things there she wanted to see. For she so _wanted_ to see them. But she needed comprehension.

So Harry had come back. That was the only incontrovertible truth. He was physically here, in bed, on the other side of the Head Student block. Hermione nudged away the image of him in bed. Not forcibly, her resistance to it was flimsy. But she tucked it behind her ear for safe keeping. But Harry was really here, in the flesh. And he'd come back _for her_. No other reason. She was in peril in his mind, so he'd left his hiding places to come to her rescue.

Her heart darted, uncontrolled, around her sternum at this most entry-level of thoughts to begin this process.

Harry had come back for her. No denying it. So what had driven this impulse? Being friendly? Did a regular friend see his best-friends' partner cheating on her, then attack the cause of it? Harry had confessed himself that it was a reflexive action, driven by irrepressible fury. Was that a normal reaction for a mere friend? Hermione couldn't rightly think that it was. And it made her overworked heart flutter more crazily still.

Then there was that look in Harry's eyes when they fell on her face. It was searching, maybe questing for safety in his troubled world. But there was something else there too. Something hungry, something wanting. And there was a guarded hint, though Hermione felt guarded herself to even consider it, of something bordering on reverence, on adoration. It was as though he couldn't keep his eyes off her, but was trying not to let her see that he couldn't. She was so close to outright giving him permission to look, but she snapped it back, cognisant of how that would come across.

For all her latent suspicions, she was a million miles from being certain that Harry was feeling these ridiculously unlikely things, despite how eagerly Hermione told herself that he was.

After all, his response to seeing her again was completely understandable in many ways. He'd been on his own for much of his two-month exile. Barring that most by chance of meetings with her parents, and that bizarre reunion with his cousin he'd mentioned, Harry had shunned human company for all that time. It had been his own choice, but Harry was a passionate, emotional person. He bottled it up more often than not, but then it had a tendency to explode out. Dumbledore and Ron would attest to that.

But internalising was not Harry's way, it wasn't healthy for him. He'd grown up in a solitary, repressed environment. His only company were his own thoughts. And these were often so negative, due to the Dursley's treatment of him, that his anger made him lose control of his magic. He'd lived his teenage years in the spotlight, again solitary in its own way. He often felt misunderstood, and Hermione now saw he had good reason to. And to think she'd been saucy with him about it before, criticised him for it! How hard must it have been for him, how alone must he have felt? He needed company now, but it had to be of the right sort. He needed companionship, someone patient and understanding and able to absorb his passions when they ran away with him.

Hermione lay there and wondered if she was actually that person, if she'd been it all along. She'd dealt with his tirades, and talked him down, plenty of times in the past. She'd never quite appreciated the magnitude of that achievement till now. Few others, if any, had managed it. Was there something about her, some power she had over him that would calm him, make him listen to her? Would anything make her more worthy of him, more suited to him? If she could provide him with all he needed, especially at his worst when his need was greatest, did that nullify all her irrational concepts of not being good enough for him?

But Merlin, she thought it might.

The thoughts of what this actually meant soared wildly around Hermione's head. They were in danger of making her dizzy. The great academian in her needed, demanded, answers to these most pressing of questions. She was almost tempted to get out of bed and seek answers in Harry's room when a sudden crash downstairs set her to hyper alert in a flash.

Grabbing her wand and her dressing gown, she hurried out of her room and down towards the common area. There was another crash, a splintering of wood and Hermione flung herself back against the wall. Irrational thoughts of a fight going on in the room flooded her mind. But her panic turned to concern when she heard Harry cry out, his voice filled with utter terror.

Without a care for her own safety, Hermione raced into the room, wand raised. The place was a sight. The glass table was completely smashed; the table of instruments had been upturned and its contents strewn across the floor. The Remembrall was rolling around still. Hermione looked over to see Harry cowering behind one of the couches. He was clearly still asleep. He was holding a quill like he would his wand, pointing it at an invisible enemy. His eyes were clenched tight shut, his jaw fixed in a grimaced lock. Despite his sleepwalking state, every line of his face was etched with wretched fear. He had tear-streaks down his cheeks. Hermione's heart bled as she looked at him.

She pointed her wand at him. She wasn't sure the spell would work, but it seemed safer than startling him awake.

_"Enervate!"_

Hermione watched as Harry's taut body slowly began to sag. He was coming around. His ragged breathing began to level out. Hermione edged across the room and eased herself down to the floor, clinging to the armrest of the couch that Harry was crouched behind. Slowly, cautiously, she tracked an arm up Harry's shoulder and into his hair. It was soaked with sweat. His breath hitched but he didn't pull away. She began to thread her fingers though his damp locks, hoping it would soothe him. He didn't open his eyes at first, but he turned into her touch. Emboldened, she increased her pressure until Harry lowered his head to her palm and nuzzled it with his temple.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely. "I'm...sorry, Hermione. I'll fix your room. I promise."

"To hell with that, Harry!" she cried. "I'm more concerned about you. What happened?"

"N-nightmare," he stammered. He ran his hand over his old lightening-shaped scar. Hermione understood instantly. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Harry," said Hermione gently. "This will all be fixed easily enough."

"Pity I cant be the same," said Harry. His dark humour was returning. He was getting back to normal.

"Do you often have bad dreams like this?"

Harry paused. Hermione could almost sense the words _only every night_ dangling on the edge of his tongue. She wanted to snatch out and hold him, but she wasn't sure he would like that. He seemed so fragile, but she didn't want to spook him by invading his space before he was fully cogent. So she waited.

"I have them sometimes," said Harry quietly. "I haven't had one quite so...vivid...for a while. It's probably just being back here. It's brought everything back, you know."

Now it was Hermione's turn to feel guilty. "I'm really sorry, Harry. If all this with Ron hadn't happened you wouldn't be back here at all."

Harry's eyes shot open. He fixed her with a fierce, earnest stare. "Don't you dare try and blame yourself for this. I had to come back and see you after what happened. I needed to make sure you were okay. These memories, these dreams, they are _always_ there, bubbling in the back of my mind. They've been triggered off before. It isn't your fault."

There was such a powerful sense of concern, of _protection_ for her in Harry's voice that Hermione was taken aback a moment. A hot blush was borne in her chest and raced up to her cheeks. Harry's gaze was just that intense.

"Besides," he was going on, "I've never gotten over them quite as quickly as this before. So...thanks. You'll have to spare some of that mystical magic you have for me. I could definitely use it."

"Any time," Hermione smiled back shyly. "Why do you think your scar still hurts though? I would have thought once that fragment of Voldemort was gone from you it wouldn't bother you again."

"I've wondered about that," said Harry.

He leaned further against the side of the couch, his body was more relaxed now. Hermione noticed her hand was still entrenched in his hair, cupping his head, her fingers stroking his temple. She didn't seem to know how to withdraw it. And, in any case, Harry was still absently nuzzling into her caress as if he was perfectly content for her to continue her ministrations. So she did.

"I don't think the scar and the Horcrux in me were necessarily the same thing. It was a link between my magic and his. It allowed our connection, I think. It's on my head, it opened our minds to each other. But I think my side of the openness hasn't really closed. Voldemort's essence cant ever be fully destroyed. There will always be evil in the world. Its an energy all of its own. I feel it sometimes. I think Voldemort can hi-jack it and enter my dreams through my open mind. He can't physically hurt me anymore, or anyone else, but he can plague my nightmares sometimes, continue the struggle we are locked in for eternity."

"Harry!" Hermione cried, aghast. "That sounds terrible! That cant be true. If it is, you have to try and stop it. Maybe Occlumency will help. I could learn it with you, help you to block other things."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Hermione," said Harry. There was a lacing of complete terror in his tone. Hermione was startled by it. It was like he was hiding something, a secret so monumental that he couldn't risk letting her see it. It stoked her curiosity, she was dying to know what it could be.

"If that's something I can do to help you, I'd be happy to," said Hermione. She was on a mission now, set to task. "I'll start having a look into it tomorrow. There's bound to be books on it in the library..."

"You don't have to..." Harry offered meekly. He seemed resigned in the face of Hermione's enthusiasm. He knew he couldn't stop her now she'd started on the idea. But he still sounded like the end result would be her seeing him naked. She rather thought that wouldn't be a bad thing, literally or figuratively.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, finally drawing her hand from his hair, but only to test his forehead for temperature. He was quite cool to the touch, and slick from sweating still.

"I'm loads better, thanks," he said, smiling over at her. Even with a missing tooth, Hermione found it devastatingly alluring.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

Harry shifted nervously. "Do you...do you think, I...I mean ... would you mind sitting with me? Just for a little bit."

Hermione blushed crazily. "Will that help, do you think?"

Harry nodded. Hermione's heart pounded hard beneath her ribs.

"Then of course I will," she said. She got to her feet and offered Harry her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was angel-sweet, and she couldn't work out where it had come from. "Let's get you to bed."

Harry took her hand and let her lead him to his room. He got into bed and turned to look at her as she took a seat nearby. She wildly thought about telling him that bedtime story after all. She was all sorts of conflicted. Wars were waging inside of her, and there seemed no victory in sight for either side. She didn't know how to proceed so she just sat in silence and watched over Harry, as he'd asked her to. She could see his face clearly in a shaft of moonlight. It made his eyes unspeakably bright and full of meaning.

He was staring at her. She knew he was. What he might be thinking, she couldn't perceive, but her stomach fluttered and flipped under his gaze. The effect was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. His eyes seemed a conglomeration of possible thoughts, as much in chaos as her own mind. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand made a movement as if for the edge of the blanket. For a crazy moment, Hermione thought he was going to open it up and invite her in. Her mind fell into a tailspin at that idea. But at the last moment his courage seemed to falter and he simply gathered up the duvet and hugged into it.

Hermione watched, and debated with herself, and argued all the merits and pitfalls of what she wanted to do versus what she was capable of doing. The net result kept her firmly rooted to her chair. Harry looked so alone, so wounded still. Her touch had soothed him, she'd seen that downstairs. She wanted to soothe him again, one of his melee of looks seemed to be crying out for her to, like he still needed it. But she was too far away, she couldn't reach him from her vantage point.

Then the idea of touching Harry in bed reared its head. Hermione thought it might cause her to pass out if she wasn't careful. Cwtching on a couch, or smoothing his face on the floor, was one thing. Caressing him in the cocoon of blankets, in the intimacy of his bed, was another beast entirely. But it was the intensity of how much she _wanted_ to that was what really bowled Hermione over. She was almost worried by how strong the urge was. She shouldn't, she couldn't, but at the same time she absolutely _should_ if Harry needed her to. Which she could almost convince herself he did.

Then Harry hiccuped across from her. It masked a sob. She could see a faint ripple, a vibration in the blankets wrapped across his shoulders. Was he _crying_? Hermione's heart ached hard at the sight. Harry suddenly tugged the edge of the blanket up over his face. He was covering his eyes. Hermione could imagine at him wiping at them furiously. Not wanting to show weakness in front of her.

_He NEEDS you_ , she thought to herself. _He needs you to go to him. He wants you to. He's just afraid to ask. He almost did. Just go!_

She took a steeling breath, and in a show of courage worthy of Harry himself, she eased off her dressing gown, gently pulled back the sheets and slipped into bed alongside him. Her heart was racing so fast she couldn't count the beats anymore. Her mind had checked out for the evening. It was leaving them to it.

Hermione slid carefully over to Harry, mindful of her bony knees and where they might knock into him in the dark. Without a word, she gathered him into her arms and cradled him. His muffled weeping stilled almost at once. Slowly, uncertainly, he slipped his arms around her waist. For a moment he was reluctant, unsure, disbelieving that Hermione was really there with him. Then he seemed to fold into her protective embrace. He had to know he was safe there. She tightened her grip a little, enclosed him in her arms. He responded in kind.

"Sleep, Harry," she whispered into his hair, where her hands had resumed their rhythmic threading. Harry squeezed her gently again, then sighed.

Hermione thought she had never heard such a sound of keen contentment ever in her life. And the fact that she had caused it, and for Harry no less, gave her the broadest of smiles. There was one thing for sure, and she was equally in awe and worry of it at the same time.

She could grow very fond of this.


	9. Outside Insights

He wasn't sure what to make of the morning, but Harry knew there was something different about it. The sun seemed to be shining a little brighter. This could have been due to the windows of the dorm room facing full East, but Harry wasn't satisfied by that. For it wasn't just the late morning sun. The air seemed calmer, too. More peaceful somehow. That niggling sense of guilt, of self-loathing, of dark shadow that Harry had become so used to wasn't quite so close this morning. And he fancied he could guess why.

It was because he'd just had the best night's sleep he could remember.

For the longest time, Harry simply lay there and basked in the afterglow. He hadn't felt this relaxed, this _okay_ in ages. He was keen to drag it out. And with little to pull him from bed there was no reason he couldn't indulge himself for a while. These beds were far superior to the bunks over in Gryffindor Tower. Larger, fluffier, firmer from less use. Just the way Harry liked them. The privacy was nice, too. Having a room all to yourself was a definite improvement.

Then Harry started, remembering the reason why he'd had such a good nights sleep. And he realised it wasn't about privacy, about having some personal space. It was about sharing it with the right people. Or in this case, the right _person_.

He wasn't surprised to find Hermione gone when he'd first woken. Acutely disappointed, yes, but he recognized that she had classes to attend and after his little episode in the night she was likely to be exhausted this morning. He wasn't overly concerned for her. He knew that Hermione at a fraction of her capacity would still run academic circles around the rest of the school. And that ever-inflating selfish part of himself, where Hermione was concerned, hoped that she wouldn't grumble too much over a little fatigue.

Not when it was the toll for the pleasure of spending the night together.

The thought sent pleasant chills over every inch of Harry's skin, tickling him insanely. He was eager to dwell on the night for as long as he could. The nightmare aside, it had been the most wonderful night he'd experienced for years, maybe ever. He was ashamed of crying in front of Hermione, but it had just happened. It was like a dam had burst and he couldn't stem it, try as he might. He knew she wouldn't judge him too harshly, or at least he hoped she wouldn't. She was too kind and caring for that. But Harry still wanted her to see him as strong, as a rock in a tempest. But rocks didn't cry, so Harry wasn't one. He was angry at himself for that.

But all thoughts of his own machismo were soon forgotten when he felt Hermione pull his bedsheets back. His tears had stopped almost instantly, replaced by a new but altogether more amazing fear. What was she _doing_? Or, more excitingly, what was she _going_ to do? Harry could hardly think for the possibilities. He went a little mindless as she slipped into bed beside him.

And then she touched him, scooped him up in her protective embrace. He couldn't honestly remember feeling safer in his entire life. He knew, innately, that nothing could harm him. He trusted Hermione utterly to keep him safe, even from the demons in his mind. She couldn't possibly get in there to drive them away, but somehow _she did_. The night terrors that had become Harry's bedfellows couldn't get close, there was no room. And Hermione didn't seem prepared to stand for their posturing to jump into her space.

Harry felt the entire battle as though he were watching from outside. The remnants of his nightmare took a while to fade. But every time they surged at him, licked at the corners of his mind or knocked on the door to return inside, Hermione would squeeze him or whisper gently to him or nuzzle the top of his head and the shadows would be driven back. And after a while, they seemed to give up entirely. They'd met their match and they wouldn't best her. Harry sensed that as surely as he did a rival Seeker racing towards the Snitch. They had no chance of reaching it first against him, they would sag and fall away, and Harry would win.

And now, slowly, Harry was beginning to feel he might be able to win again. Only this time, he knew he wasn't fighting the battle alone. He had a champion to fight alongside him, to fight for him when he flagged. A willing partner in the struggle against his personal darkness. He didn't deserve it, he knew that, he knew even less why Hermione seemed so determined to be there with him. What was it that had driven her to share his bed with him last night? Maybe she just wanted to help. But there was help...and then there was _help_.

Harry knew Hermione cared for him, but she would have been all too aware of the potential consequences of hopping between his sheets. She was probably as terrified of the act as Harry had been, despite how both seemed to know how desperately Harry needed such intimate comfort. He could think of no-one else who would have acted in such a spontaneous way, who would have known it was _exactly_ what he needed in his most fragile of moments. She hugged him, she embraced him, she kept him whole when he was in danger of falling apart. There was no-one anywhere who possessed such a power as that.

And the surge of love Harry felt for her in that moment made him giddy.

He wondered where Hermione was in the castle right about now. If he'd had his Dad's old map with him he would probably have taken it out and spent the entire day watching the little dot labelled _'Hermione Granger'_ and remotely stalked her through her routine. That would be weird, not to mention a little creepy. Harry knew his burgeoning obsession for her was getting out of hand with thoughts like these. But he couldn't help it. They'd spent the night together, and though nothing untoward had happened, Harry was desperate to know Hermione's thoughts on the event.

She hadn't woken Harry when she'd left his bed that morning. He'd opened his eyes when the morning sun glided his eyelids and nudged his lazy posterior to wake up, but Hermione was long gone. Her side of the bed wasn't even warm anymore. Harry had shuddered at that, his mind hitching on the concept of _Hermione's side of the bed_. Her side...of _his bed_. It aroused all those memories of his visions, and the prospects and desires they exposed. They stirred up the restless necessity for Hermione in Harry's blood that he was now intimately familiar with. A necessity that had intensified over the course of one night.

For Harry knew his feelings for her had deepened, had become yet more concentrated. The realisation surprised him, for he'd been a little overwhelmed by the strength of his newly awakened affections for her as it was. To learn that they could get stronger still was a little frightening. Who knew how powerful it could get, and what it would make him do.

Hermione's new ability to soothe him at his most desperate times was the obvious source. In Harry's first week of exile he'd woken from a particularly vivid nightmare, where Voldemort had made his parents rise as Inferi and Harry had to fight them. He'd startled himself awake and the terror of his dream caused him to vomit. He'd sat rocking on the alien floor of some hotel room, his legs hitched up into his chest and his arms clinging tight around his knees. He'd stayed there till dawn until the last flecks of his nightmare drifted into the ether. Ever since, he'd approached sleep time with a unhealthy dose of dread.

But Hermione had allayed those fears at a stroke. There was peace and safety in her warm arms, in her honeyed words. Harry feared he could get addicted to sharing a bed with her. He was a little desperate to think she wouldn't be cuddled up to him that night. Would he find sleep at all? She had suddenly, abruptly, become a essential source of solace to him, a shield against the shadowy foes in his mind. He needed her for that power at the very least. And for a great many more things besides.

But she still seemed so far away.

Harry knew he had to get a grip. He needed an anchor in his reality, but he also needed a release. Something potent was built up inside him and he needed to alleviate it. He needed something normal, or at least, _old normal_. His new normal was as frightening and unknown as it was exciting and thrilling. It was at the moment too monumental to get a handle on. Not least because it was still, in part, nothing more than a huge fantasy. It was a fantasy a little less impossible for Harry, due to the fact that Hermione's scent was still on the pillow next to him, but the leap between that and the children he'd seen them having was still an unfathomable chasm.

He might as well have been trying to jump to the moon.

That might have been impossible, but the biggest journeys started with the smallest steps. For Harry, that meant getting himself out of bed. He caught sight of his reflection in the full length mirror. He considered himself. Was he really good enough to push for Hermione's love? Did that pale, scruffily-haired young man gazing back from the glass really possess enough to enchant Hogwarts' greatest-ever bookworm? Harry wished he had a book to tell him how. He remembered that Ron once had something similar. He spat at the notion. If Ron had used tricks and illusions to get Hermione then Harry wanted no such advice. He wanted something real, not fake and contrived.

But that was where reality intruded on Harry's fantasy musings. His reflection was a liar. It showed a fairly normal young man. It hid the shattered depths within. The gloom, which always seemed to lurk at Harry's shoulder, woke from its slumber and renewed its vigil behind his eyes. It looked back at him, reminded him of the battle ever waging inside him, of the darkness which persisted despite the bliss of his night with Hermione. She was his only solace, his elixir, but how could he let her know without sending her running for the hills?

The quandary was simple. Harry needed Hermione, but at the same time he didn't want to expose her to his worst and darkest side. She didn't deserve that. But, as his heart whispered forcefully, what if she was _willing_ to step into the breach? What if she was prepared to take on his struggle, to absorb his pain as her own until such time as they could banish it from them both forever?

To join with him for good and bad, as a _wife_ would?

Harry's insides did somersaults at the prospect. There was something so wholly electrifying in the concept of _Hermione as Wife_ that made all of Harry's insides squirm with unimaginable pleasure. It slapped his inner gloom in the face and told it to fuck off. He thought if he could ever make it a reality nothing would ever truly upset him again. He smiled at the idea now as it flew around his ribcage. But he knew he still had to earn it. There were obstacles ahead yet to overcome, proving barriers Harry had to pass to before he would accept himself as worthy of Hermione.

In that moment, Harry decided one thing for sure. Hermione would have to choose _him_. He didn't want to sway her, to coax her to him. To trick her like Ron had. That wasn't fair on her. He was too broken, too big a project to attract by unnatural means. There would be no love potions, no grandiose declarations. Not until he was sure, and he would wait for Hermione to make her intentions clear before he did. He trusted she would, if he could ever make her feel that way. How he'd know, he had no clue. He just hoped he'd recognise it, if it ever happened. But being with him was a much bigger sacrifice for her than the reverse for him. It was the biggest sacrifice he could ever ask of anyone.

Harry just pleaded to Merlin that Hermione would be willing to make it.

He needed to clear his head. It was a nice, pleasant day and the empty skies above the Quidditch pitch called to him. Harry unpacked his Firebolt from his bag and made his way quickly through the castle. He was lucky. It was between classes just before lunch and the halls were empty. It spared him the stares and comments and questions. He afforded himself a chuckle as he thought how often those particular shadows had accompanied him though these corridors in his time here. It also pissed him off a fair bit. Fucking impudent little shits. They should all have a turn, see how they liked it. Harry swished the angry thoughts away. Kids could be cunts, no matter which world you were in.

Harry was soon feeling the wondrous sensation of flying. He'd missed this, the wind whipping through his hair, the swoop of a low dive, the exhilaration of gunning through the air like a fiercely loosed arrow. He sped around the pitch, soared through the giant hoops like a human Quaffle, performed a lap of honour to an imaginary crowd and milked their phantom applause.

That was until he saw an actual spectator down below.

Harry frowned. There was no mistaking that shock of fiery red hair. This was a meeting Harry had been hoping to avoid, but it would be downright impolite to duck away from it now. He slowly descended and dismounted as the figure of Ginny Weasley approached him. He wasn't sure how to be. He supposed he would just wait to see what she wanted. But he took no pleasure in seeing her. His new, unfogged eyesight had given him a good chance to assess her afresh as she neared him.

Now he considered her, she was quite plain looking. He'd always thought she was pretty, but if you took off the inch of make-up she'd be fairly bland. She had nice tits, couldn't deny that. But her face was nothing to write home about. She was scowling, too. That didn't help, or do anything for Harry's mood. He felt himself go to combat-mode at the sight of her.

"Thought you wouldn't bother coming to say hello, then," she said bluntly as she stopped a foot or so away.

"This isn't a social call, Ginny," Harry replied, equally brusque. "I haven't come back for that."

"Then why have you?"

"I would have thought that was fairly obvious."

Ginny looked at him, staring hard. "Well, I've seen the headlines."

Her answer was vague and Harry wasn't sure what she was getting at. She was being intentionally evasive. He wasn't about to indulge her childish games.

"Why are _you_ here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Quidditch practice," said Ginny simply. "I'm Gryffindor Captain this year."

"Oh...well, congratulations."

"Thanks."

"I'll just get out of your way then."

"Oh no, Harry, you don't get out of it that easily," said Ginny, moving to block his path. "Don't you think we need to talk?"

"Not really," said Harry flatly. "What do we have to talk about?"

Ginny flushed a little. "Well apart from the obvious, shouldn't we talk about us?"

A barrier rose in Harry's chest at Ginny's words. The idea of an _us_ with any girl besides Hermione was now so abhorrent to him that he was forcibly prepared to attack any such concept.

"There isn't an _us_ , Ginny. I thought I made that quite clear."

"But you haven't ever given me a good enough reason for not getting back with me. Its not fair to me, Harry."

Harry felt an odd urge to head-butt Ginny. He wrestled it away.

"A _good enough_ reason?" Harry spat. "You mean I have to tick the right boxes until you accept it? That you'll never go away until I do?"

"Pretty much."

Harry had never wanted to genuinely hurt Ginny's feelings by not renewing the relationship with her. He wasn't that big a prick. He was content to let it drift away and for Ginny to simply get over it and move on. But now, as he stared at her annoying little face, and her arrogant words rang in his ears, he was struck with a blunt and powerful notion.

_Fuck her._

"You want a reason?" he began. "How's this - I don't love you. I never did. You were a flash of lust, that's all. We had a bit of fun, but it passed. I did a lot of thinking when I was hunting Horcruxes and fighting Voldemort. It made me realise the preciousness of life, but how ephemeral it is. I don't have time for the vacuous and baseless, and that's all we ever were. You don't know me enough to ever really understand me. I need more. And you cant provide that, Gin. Its as simple as that."

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily. It was the response Harry expected. It made the bubbling conflict that much easier in his mind. Her next words simply greased the skids.

"And I suppose Hermione can?"

Harry's initial instinct was to curse Ginny so that she could never say Hermione's name in such an acidic fashion again. Her dirty mouth was unworthy of forming the very sound. But Harry was held by a knowledge of needing to stay guarded.

"This has nothing to do with Hermione!"

"Oh stop being a dumb prat, Harry," Ginny retorted. "You aren't fooling anyone. It's pretty clear what this is all about. You must think I'm incredibly stupid."

Harry looked plainly at her. He didn't need words to communicate his agreement. Ginny scowled harder.

"The war ends and instead of celebrating with us - like you _should_ have been - you disappear off into the wilderness. Then the night you went, Hermione suddenly turns up all upset and starts pushing Ron away. It doesn't take a genius to work out what's been going on. Even Ron knew it, and if that dense oaf can work it out it must be the most obvious thing. Don't you realise what you've done?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry.

"They were so _happy_ together," said Ginny. "Merlin knows why. But I'd never seen Ron smile like that. He was so elated to be with Hermione, just like I was with you. Then you two go and ruin everything. I hope you're happy breaking so many hearts, Harry."

Harry felt a ball of guilt wedge itself in his throat. Despite his anger at Ginny, and at Ron, it pulled at his heroic sensibility to be the root of so much upset. It caused his dark tension to return with aplomb. It blocked out the normal filters he usually relied on.

"There's nothing going on with Hermione and I," Harry said firmly. "If she splits with Ron, he's brought it on himself for cheating on her. Its a bit fucking mercenary of him to use _my_ fame to get girls. If that's what he wanted, he should have broken it off with Hermione. Not cheated on her. He's just shown her what we all know - that he's far from good enough for her."

"And I suppose you think you are?"

"This has nothing to do with _me_ , Ginny!"

"Rubbish, Harry!" cried Ginny. "Even if you hadn't attacked my brother in broad daylight, running straight to Hermione would have more than given your little game away."

"Oh, so I have a little game now, do I?"

"Yes, and you and that boring little Muggleborn have been playing it behind all our backs for ages!" said Ginny acridly. "Everyone knows there's been something going on with you and Hermione for years. I'm baffled as to why. I'd have thought you wanted a bit more _liveliness,_ Harry. But Hermione has always had you wrapped around her tricksy little finger. Why do you think I had to ask her permission to make a move for you?"

Harry felt clobbered. Ginny had caught him off guard with that one. He recoiled slightly. Ginny continued the offensive.

"Merlin's Beard, Harry, everyone from Dumbledore to my bloody mother knows there's been something between you. Ron has hated you secretly for it for years. Ever since the Goblet of Fire. He used to whine all the time to Fred and George about it, looking for ideas on how to steal Hermione from you. He was _convinced_ you were going out without telling him. He even had me believing it."

"So you asked Hermione for what... her _consent_ before trying to go out with me?"

"Not in so many words, but I had to clear her out of the way," said Ginny. "She was the only real barrier. The only proper competition I had. There was no other girl who could get close to you with her around. If I could get her out of the picture and take her place I knew I'd have you. And I thought I'd managed it. She said you weren't together and that she wasn't interested. Obviously, she was full of shit."

"Don't talk about her like that," Harry growled. It was a reflexive response, instinctively protective.

Ginny scoffed in validation. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say _I told you so_. "It's quite obviously the real reason we didn't get back together, so you should have the balls to say it, Harry. I should have seen it in how easily Hermione tried to make me give up on you a couple of months back. You must have had it all planned out even then."

Harry didn't respond right away. He hadn't told Hermione how he truly felt about her. Merlin, he had barely found the courage to tell himself yet. He wasn't about to have Ginny fucking Weasley being the first to formally know. But he grinned broadly to himself at the idea of Hermione manoeuvring Ginny out of the way to make room for herself. He'd love to believe it was true. But he had to get back to the matter at hand.

"I've told you the real reason we didn't get back together," said Harry. "I don't want you."

Ginny stepped in closer. She looked at him with fire in her pupils. "Everyone _wants_ me, Harry."

Harry felt a corrosive surge of dislike for Ginny. It made him act out angrily. " _I don't._ Looking back, I'm pretty sure I only went out with you because all the boys in Gryffindor Tower had. I didn't want to be the odd one out. But now, I'm happy to be it."

Ginny stepped back angrily. "Fuck you, Harry."

"Well, we didn't get that far, did we?" said Harry coldly. "I'm quite pleased about that."

"And I'm sure Hermione will just _love_ your purity," Ginny fumed. "She is the fucking same, after all. Frigid bitch. I knew there was no chance you shagged her during those months alone in that tent. You'd need a winch to get those legs apart. No wonder Ron looked elsewhere."

Harry felt his anger catch again. His heart was racing with a fury he was sure he'd never known.

"I should have guessed you'd take his side in this," said Harry. His voice was throaty, his ire evident. Ginny seemed largely unfazed.

"And why wouldn't I? I want my brother to be happy. I never thought he would be, not with Hermione. They are a terrible match. The only good thing was he'd taken her away from _you_ , made you accessible. But she is far too much of a prude, a know-it-all goody-goody. No getting into her knickers without a powerful _alohomora_ or two. Ron might as well get some action elsewhere if he can."

"Watch it, Ginny," said Harry dangerously.

Ginny's eyes flicked with the first hint of caution. Harry's anger seemed to sweep over her like an electric force. He could see her hair stand on end.

"Why? Are you going to hex me too, Harry. But of course you will, if its _darling Hermione_ I'm having a go at..."

"What is going on here!"

Harry and Ginny both span around. The gruff voice of Madam Hooch had cut into their row. She was walking quickly to them, the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team lurking meekly in the background. She looked down worryingly at Harry's hand, which had drawn his wand without his even noticing it. He tucked it away quickly.

"It's nothing," said Harry. "I was just leaving."

"Yeah, he was leaving," Ginny hissed in angry confirmation.

"Oh, well in that case you might want to hurry up to the school," said Madam Hooch.

"And whys that?" asked Harry.

"Well, I just saw your old friend Mr Ron Weasley enter the castle. I Imagine you have a lot to talk about."

Harry started, cast Ginny a last angry look, then sprinted away in the direction of the school.

* * *

Hermione sat and stared out of the window, careful to mask a yawn from little Professor Flitwick, who just happened to pass her at the inopportune moment. She didn't want to make it seem like she was bored, but neither did she fancy offering explanations as to her lack of sleep the previous night. It felt like a secret that she covetously wanted to protect from everyone. It wasn't like it was naughty, and she certainly wasn't ashamed of herself, but it was something so beautiful and perfect that she didn't want to spoil it by sharing it with anyone.

Well, maybe she'd like to talk to Harry about it.

She shivered pleasantly at the thought. Wildly thrilled and scared all at the same time. She was bright-eyed from the lack of sleep, but had she been able to see herself she would have seen how this thought diffused yet more radiance into her complexion. She almost didn't dare to form the words. _She'd spent the night with Harry!_ In his _bed_! It was too momentous to really process. But Hermione didn't want to let the thought go, as though it would disappear and suddenly become unreal if she did.

She supposed she was still a little stunned by Harry's lack of resistance to the whole thing. Yes, he'd been upset, but Harry had a solitary streak that often pushed people away when he was emotional. He was a passionate person, but he was more prone to showing his anger than any sort of vulnerability. Hermione accepted this wasn't such a unique trait. Most boys would probably be the same. But still, Harry had let that side of him, that fortified guard, fall apart in front of her. She felt fairly covetous of this, too, in an odd sort of way. As though Harry in his most fragile state was something now intimate to her alone, that he only felt safe and comfortable enough with her to let that part of him out when he needed to.

And last night he'd really needed to. So much so that he'd let her share his bed with him.

What did that mean? Since when had their relationship transformed into that state? A mere matter of days ago they were separated by who knew how many miles and Hermione had a boyfriend. Harry might, himself, have been off spreading his wild oats with random girls he may have come across on his travels. Hermione punched this idea away. It stirred an unreasonable anger and rage inside her that was worryingly potent. She dismissed images of Harry shacking up with faceless sluts and turned her mind back to happier musings.

She pulled the memories of holding Harry last night to the forefront of her mind. She smiled at them. She smiled harder as she remembered how he'd held her back. Understandably needy at first, but even this was tinged with sweetness. Hermione marvelled that Harry was looking to her so much for safety and comfort. She reasoned she must have successfully provided for him as his embrace had become more tender, gentler, and infinitely more sensual.

Then his hands had moved, ever so slightly to begin with as if trying out new places to hold her. Several times his fingertips had swiped ever so close to her waist line. She'd fought back gasps as he did this, resisting the urge to arch her back and encourage him lower. But ultimately she didn't dare. Harry was damaged, wounded from his nightmare. He needed affirmation that she was there, that he wasn't alone. There wasn't anything more to it than that and Hermione didn't want to risk losing that incredible intimacy she and Harry were sharing, despite his broken state.

But by Merlin was it a close thing.

None of her vivid dreams of Harry had ever been like that, but neither had they been as powerful. This was what shocked her so much. If the simple act of holding Harry though a turbulent night could stir such an incredible response in her, she could barely imagine what a more passionate night might do. Not that something like that was ever likely to happen, obviously. Still, the very hint of the idea pinched her loins and she had to squeeze her legs together to quickly offset the throbbing pulse that struck her there.

But was it so outlandish an idea as it sounded? Hermione would have totally said it was before last night. Even after Harry's attack on Ron in Diagon Alley. Harry had never let anyone that close. None of his previous girlfriends had gotten anywhere near. But Hermione had crossed that threshold, and Harry had welcomed her to his most intimate place and kept her there when she went. That _had_ to mean something. Something big.

Her heart flapped wildly. Dare she believe it? It was such a risk, to open herself to such a rejection if she was wrong. She wasn't sure she could cope with it if that happened. That had to mean something, too. How deep did her infatuation with Harry go? Was it so enormous that she would be irreparably broken if he didn't return her affections? She thought that might actually be the case. And if that was true, what did it mean for her feelings? Was she in danger of _really_ falling for Harry? Had she done so already, and just needed to give in to it?

She wasn't prepared to make that leap. Not yet. She needed to know more. She needed Harry to give her a bit more encouragement. Maybe she needed to give _him_ more encouragement. It must be hard for him. He probably thought he was too damaged to deserve love. It was the kind of messed up, moral thing Harry was prone to. Then there was the fact that Hermione was recently split up from Ron. Harry wouldn't know what to do. He had little experience to tell him.

If this was going to happen, Hermione felt it might fall to her to make the first move.

The idea terrified her. Was she really brave enough for it? She thought she might prefer another go at the Horcruxes of Voldemort than to pursue Harry romantically. The pitfalls of failure against Voldemort were easier to confront than the idea of failing to win Harry's heart. But the prize was infinitely greater. It was something Hermione had only dared to hope for in the most wildest of her dreams. Harry Potter, and all that meant, with Hermione Granger _in a romantic relationship_. It was only ever something indulged in the realm of imagination.

But now Hermione was seeing it as possibly real for the first time ever. And the thoughts threatened to take the floor from beneath her feet.

She struggled to pinpoint what had changed to give her even this slightest glimmer of hope. For it was now firmly ensconced in her mind. She _could_ get Harry. After all the years of thinking he was out of reach, or off limits, or whatever it had been, Hermione now felt that she had an even chance of being with him the the way she'd long wanted to be. Maybe it was greater than even. There was just something new in the way he was around her. The way he was looking at her, speaking to her, his general body language in her presence. It was open, inviting, in a way she couldn't remember it being before.

She tried to deconstruct it. It suggested, on the surface, a change in his affections towards _her_. Was that possible? If she was describing it for someone else it most definitely would be. But she had a hard time accepting that to herself. It was Harry, after all, and that meant an extra layer of caution where she was concerned. Could he really have developed deeper feelings for her, and in so short a space of time?

Well, she thought, _you_ have for _him_. Or, at least, she'd allowed the once forbidden thoughts into her conscious mind for the first time. What if he'd done the same? Was it possible that he'd put her into an 'off-limits' category too, consciously or otherwise? And now, something had sparked in him to change the way he viewed her? She couldn't call it impossible, as it was _exactly_ what she'd done with him. Even though it sounded bizarre, and flattering in the most fundamental way.

Could Harry have finally opened up to the idea of relationship with _her_ and liked it so much that he was tentatively testing the waters? Hermione felt her chest swell at the idea that she might have become that important to him, in the way he was to her. It ignited girlish flutterings at the comparisons. They'd treated each other the same way, and had woken to new possibilities at the same time. It was something cosmic, meant to be, and all other soppily romantic notions that Hermione would normally scoff at.

Now she found herself positively drowning in them.

If there was any truth to it, of course. All she had was a theory, which she could easily make fit the facts if it suited her. Which it utterly did. Harry had given her subtle signs, as was his way, but for once she wished he would be more expressive. Not that she would really have it any other way. His dark, brooding nature was part of his appeal. To be able to break through that guarded exterior, to the wonderful person on the inside, would be the mark of knowing Harry had let her in, that he was hers completely.

She also happened to find his dark intensity fucking sexy as fuck.

Suddenly everyone was packing away. Hermione had missed the second half of the lesson, lost in her thoughts. She leaned over to Luna Lovegood, who was sitting next to her.

"Was there any homework?" she asked quickly.

"Weren't you listening?" asked Luna serenely. "You really should have been."

"I know, but my mind was wandering," said Hermione. "I missed it."

"Were you thinking about Harry Potter?"

Hermione shifted awkwardly. Was she that transparent?

"Only I would be, if I were you," Luna went on. "Didn't you spend the night with him?"

_What!_ How could Luna possibly know _that_?

"W-why would you think that?" Hermione stuttered.

"He stayed in the Head Students dorm with you, didn't he?" asked Luna. "Everyone's talking about it."

Hermione felt a flush rush up to her cheeks. Luna's unerring ability to treat awkward truths so calmly was unsettling her. Were she and Harry really the hot topic of gossip around the castle? She was sure he wouldn't like that. She imagined him angrily cursing her for attracting unwanted attention onto himself. His recent actions made it quite clear he'd had enough of all that. Hermione felt her anxiety rise.

"People are saying he'll be the new Head Boy," Luna continued, happily oblivious to Hermione's inner crisis. "Do you think he will be?"

"I really don't know," said Hermione. It seemed such an irrelevance. Harry might be upset with her. That was the only important thing right now. What if it made him run away again? She couldn't stand it if that happened.

"I'm not surprised you didn't discuss it. You had a lot to talk about I bet. What with your boyfriend cheating on you and everything. I thought that was a very rotten thing of Ron Weasley to do to you."

Hermione softened a little. "Thank you, Luna."

"You're very lucky to have someone like Harry to comfort you. It must be nice to have someone like him come to see how you are coping."

"Yes, yes it is," Hermione smiled. "And I am very lucky, you're right."

"I've always liked Harry," Luna said thoughtfully. "He's so kind and caring. He was always nice to me when most people weren't."

Hermione, though the comment wasn't aimed at her, felt a swell of guilt herself. She'd never exactly been the most friendly to Luna. She couldn't see past her quirks and flights of fancy. Hermione saw now how small minded she'd been. Harry _had_ always had time for Luna. He spoke so highly of her. If Luna was good enough for Harry she was certainly worth more consideration from her. Hermione was struck by an idea.

"Luna - are you meeting any of your friends for lunch?"

Luna looked blankly at Hermione. "I don't really have any friends. People don't seem to want to be around me very much."

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for Luna. "Would you like to join me for lunch? I don't have any friends here either."

Luna smiled brightly. "I'd like that! We can talk about Harry some more if you'd like."

Now it was Hermione's turn to smile. That was _exactly_ what she was hoping to do. Selfishly, she also hoped that being nice to Luna might help offset Harry's anger towards her for setting tongues ablaze about him again. But the chance to simply _talk_ about Harry was the primary inducement.

Why she was so open to discussing Harry with Luna was slightly confusing. But Hermione felt a sort of safety in the idea. Maybe it was Luna's over-active imagination. If she blabbed anything, who would believe her? Though Luna's lack of friends made this unlikely. Hermione could tell her anything and it would likely go no further. And with Luna's uncanny knack of speaking truths others avoided, perhaps Hermione could let her vocalise her own secret wishes on her behalf. That would be nice.

They packed their books away and made their way towards the Great Hall. They were cast a few odd looks in the corridors but Hermione ignored that. If she was to be the target of gossips she knew she needed to develop an immunity to it. The entered the Hall and found seats at the far end of one of the house tables. They were unlikely to be overheard there.

"How is Harry anyway?" asked Luna, piling salad onto a plate. "I hope he's well. It really isn't fair, all the things he's had to go through."

"You're right about that," said Hermione. "He's been through so much. Its catching up with him now, I think."

"He's had to be so brave," Luna commented. "He must want some peace. I would. At least he has you to talk to."

Hermione smiled at Luna. "I just hope I'm enough. Harry has a lot of healing to do."

"I'm sure you can help him with that," said Luna sweetly. "You always have been really close, haven't you? I think you must know him better than anyone."

"Yes, we are really close," said Hermione. "That's why he came to see me, after what happened in London with Ron."

"That's really sweet of him," said Luna. "It shows how much he likes you. Why haven't you two ever considered going out?"

Hermione nearly choked on her pasta. How could Luna just _say_ it like that, so simply?

"I don't think many people would be surprised if you did," Luna went on. "Its not often that a boy and a girl can be as close as you are and not at least try it. Do you think you will, if you split up with Ron after what he did?"

Hermione was stupefied by Luna's forwardness. She put her fork down. "Harry and I are just really good friends."

"I think you should try and be more," said Luna pensively. "It would make a lot of sense. You already know each other really well, you like each other a lot - so you'd be really happy together - and you could help Harry get better, after all that's happened to him. And he could show you that not all boys are as thoughtless as Ron. I'm sure Harry would treat you much better. I think you'd make a lovely couple."

Hermione simply beamed at Luna. She almost wanted to hug her. "Well...thank you, Luna. If anything ever changes between Harry and I, you'll be the first to know. I promise."

"You do?" Luna exclaimed. She sounded elated. "That's nice of you. I hope it does. Harry deserves someone to make him happy. I think you could probably do that."

Hermione enjoyed her lunch very much after that. Luna was no longer quirky. She was insightful and wise. Hermione liked her twelve times more than she had that very morning. Her mood was exceptionally good as she sat and pondered her situation.

But just at that moment, her situation changed drastically, and it wasn't for the better.

Amidst all the beautiful ideas of her and Harry as a couple, something drew her attention. People on the far side of the hall were chattering animatedly. That must mean Harry. Hermione felt a little timid as she turned her head to look at him.

But it wasn't Harry the students were interested in. For another new arrival had drawn their curiosity. This one was red-headed and now marching purposely through the Great Hall in Hermione's direction.

Ron Weasley had arrived at Hogwarts.


	10. Earlier

_**Three Months Earlier...** _

The Gryffindor Boys dorm was quiet. It was as if the castle had let out a long, baited breath to mark the defeat of Lord Voldemort twelve hours earlier. Only to find horror in the exhale. The air itself had no life, the atmosphere still and unmoving. The world had changed. It was in the fabric of every wave and particle. Though there was no charge to any of it. A void of new uncertainty had replaced the fear, confusion and wariness where there had once been a palpable density, easy to define.

Harry was drowning in it, swallowing and gagging against the dark depths of the new world. Of _his_ new world. He sat hugging his hunched legs, looking out of the shattered tower, letting the swirl of an icy breeze encircle him. His cheeks were sodden with tears he had no idea how to stop. They'd been coming for hours now. He didn't know what to do. And he was utterly alone.

He knew he'd better get used to it.

He didn't know how to do that, either. So he simply sat, and wept, and watched the pale dawn light filter over the Scottish highlands framed against the cloudy sky in the distance. The magnitude of the view belittled him as the reality of his life crashed in around his mind. Visions of horror chased memories of suffering around his battered psyche. It was as if the death of Voldemort had burst a dam that Harry had been holding back for years.

And now he was powerless to stop the torrent.

It flew at him in angry waves, broke as tears from his swollen eyes and burned hot against his dirty skin. And not one of the other fuckers, who had been celebrating well into the night around Hogwarts, had the faintest clue what was going on. Harry resented almost all of them. It was lucky they had given him a wide berth. His shifting moods were making him volatile.

But he had never felt so alone.

He was angry also. It was an alien anger, a fluid sensation directed fully at Ginny Weasley. Once the source of so much hope and joy, he felt a hollow acidity at the very thought of her. She had tried to throw herself at him before they'd even stowed Voldemort's dead body away from the other corpses. She was mindless of his physical pain, of his exhaustion. Of anything he'd been through. She wanted only for herself and Harry saw a plainly different vision of her than he was used to. A veil had been lifted. She'd never understand him. There would be no getting back with her. Harry would sooner be alone.

And after what he'd seen with Ron and Hermione he knew he surely would be.

They'd kissed. Finally gotten together it would seem, after all the skirting around each other. Harry felt a gut-lurching emptiness at the thought. There would be no more of the so-called Golden Trio. Harry would not play third wheel to them. They would have happiness, but Harry knew innately that he wouldn't share it. Though he couldn't rightly articulate why. He felt an immense sense of loss, like losing a limb or a loved one. The image implanted on his retinas and he urged it away, but it gnawed at him.

Why? He always knew that it was likely to happen, but he now felt he'd filed it away with the Death of Voldemort in not knowing how he'd deal with it when it did. Both were concepts too incorporeal to truly imagine. Both would be foundation-smashing to the very core of his life. Voldemort - his nemesis, his enemy, but at the same time an ever-present, purpose defining force. Ron and Hermione - best friends, now broken away as something else. Breaking their connection, breaking him. Leaving him behind.

Both things had happened at the same time.

Harry wasn't sure he would be able to cope. He was slightly panicked at the idea of losing his mind. He quite literally had no-one now. His enemy was dead. His best friends would be closer to each other now than him. There was nobody else for Harry. The idea terrified him. He was so alone, so completely solitary. He had nowhere to turn.

And he needed someone now, more than he ever had.

But who would solicit the company of a murderer? For that's all Harry could see in himself now. No great hero, no vanquisher of an evil foe. A killer, pure and simple. And at the tender age of eighteen to boot. It would never go away. He would have to carry this with him for the rest of his life. This one, undeniable fact about him. Of all else that had gone on around him, all the speculation that accompanied the adulation, this was the only piece of trivia beyond contestation.

He was a murderer.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Harry had never once imagined that it would. He had to destroy Voldemort. It was fated. But when it actually happened, it wasn't Lord Voldemort he saw. The eyes that died belonged to Tom Riddle, a man in whom Harry saw a lot of himself. There were uncanny similarities. And that made him real, a monster of a man, but a man nonetheless. A man that Harry had just killed.

There was no getting around it. The truth stabbed Harry firmly in the chest, pressed on his sobbing lungs and swirled bleakly around his mind. He tried to absorb it, thinking it may be easier that way. If he was ever going to deal with the truth, he first had to accept it. But it was harder than he could ever have considered. He looked out again of the blasted open wall of the tower dorm. The battlements loomed down below, firm and unyielding. Harry stared at them a moment.

It would be so easy to jump.

Harry closed his eyes and considered the option. It would be simple, over in a moment. He wouldn't have to face himself again. Yes he would upset a few people, but they'd get over it. Maybe a few would even understand. They'd turn this day from a celebratory one into a memorial. It would be more fitting, marking the deaths of so many others along with Harry's own. And he'd never feel any of it.

He took a step forward.

The breeze was cool, welcoming almost. Maybe he'd become part of it once his broken body released his fractured soul. He could soar without a broom. That might be nice. He looked out across the rugged landscape again, his hands braced on the sides of the gap in the wall. Then he bowed his head, stepped back. He couldn't do this, something so selfish. Countless people had died to keep him alive. He'd be the worlds biggest cunt to just top himself. They deserved better, even if he wasn't worthy of giving it to them.

Harry slumped back onto his bed, pulling his covers tight around himself. His body was still wracked with tears. He wished they'd stop. He imagined all the moisture in him seeping out through his eyes. He felt part of his very spirit going with it. He pressed down deeper into his bed, hoping to find some sort of release there. Maybe he'd have a wank, try and feel something besides this smothering misery. But that was never going to happen. He only had dark demons for company, and they weren't likely to turn him on.

Then the door opened.

Harry didn't want company. Despite his melancholia over the last few hours, the prospect promised with the opening door was abhorrent to him. Whoever was there could just fuck right off and leave him be. He scrunched his eyes and hitched his breathing. If he could do a convincing version of sleep maybe the interlopers would just go away. He began to breath rhythmically in and out, holding himself as still as possible. He couldn't let himself move, to give the game away.

Then something tickled his cheek.

It was all he could to not open his eyes. First a stray hair, then a whole load fell against his skin. He heard light breath before he felt it, hot against his ear. His whole body tingled like it'd been electrified. Maybe he could get that hard-on after all. The breath was so close-by, whoever it was must be examining him intimately. Harry held himself stiller yet. This was like a game. It felt almost illicit. But he found himself practically _enjoying_ it. And that heavy breathing was sensually distracting.

He was sorry when it went. But it didn't go far. It lingered near his forehead for a few moments before moving in close again. Harry had to fight a gasp as soft lips suddenly kissed his scar. There was something definitively shy in the kiss, but for some reason Harry felt like it was the most insanely sweet thing ever. It made him feel alive again. This was some serious magic at work.

Harry couldn't dwell on it for long. The lips left his forehead and he felt the covers to his bed being tucked in tight around him. One last smooth of his haunched shoulders and whoever it was moved away. The door creaked again.

"He's sleeping, so keep your voices down."

Hermione. Speaking to an audience. Fiercely protective as always. But if she'd been the one in the room, why had Harry responded to her _like that_. It wasn't proper. This was Hermione after all.

"Can't we just go in and see him? We'll be quiet."

"No you cannot, Ginny," said Hermione firmly. "He needs to rest. Come on, back downstairs all of you. One more peep and I'll take my wand to the lot of you."

Harry stifled a laugh. He was eminently grateful to Hermione, dutifully taking care of him. He would miss that dearly about her. It made him sore to even think about it. So he tried not to. But his mind drifted absently to the kiss again. He didn't want to think about that, either. It caused his stomach to stir and set his heart to motion. He wasn't in the right state for either thing. He just wanted to be numb.

He thought he could manage that.

Two days passed without Harry really seeing anybody. He was becoming very good at avoiding people. Knowing the secret passages of the castle became one of Harry's most treasured skills. He could have just gone around in his Invisibility Cloak but it wasn't the most comfortable way to move. So he simply developed a habit of slipping into shadows, hiding in empty rooms and diving behind statues whenever anyone passed too close by.

Not that there were many people left at Hogwarts now. The school year had been terminated, the students sent home. Those who remained had their own reasons for doing so. Harry's was that he simply had nowhere to go. The Weasleys had gone, but Ron and Ginny were daily visitors. The others were busy planning Fred's funeral. Harry didn't want to intrude on that, so had turned down offers of joining them at the Burrow.

Hermione was still around somewhere, though Harry had been particularly keen to avoid her. He knew she was planning to head to Australia to find her parents and was ironing out the finer details with a medi-witch from St Mungo's, who was advising her on the potential problems with reversing her parent's wiped memories. Hermione was deeply concerned and Harry wanted to reassure her, positive as he was that she'd find them and put everything right.

But he found himself oddly tongue-tied around her.

He'd seen Hermione a few times over the past two days but he'd lost the ability to speak in her presence. It was lucky he had the excuse of being a morose and moody twat since Voldemort died. It provided a plausible excuse, when Harry had none better to offer instead. She tried to coax him to talk, but he was unable to form more than a few words. He just sat there in silence and listened instead. She didn't press him too hard, mindful of his state, preferring instead to look at him in a pained manner and hope he would choose to open up himself.

Which he totally wouldn't. The confusion was perhaps the most unsettling thing. He knew it was still Hermione, no different than before, but her act of looking after him when he was vulnerable had changed his view of her somehow. He couldn't have described how, it just had. He had a desire to be around her more, as she made him feel safe, but at the same time there was something that made his mood turn south when he thought about her. He couldn't explain it.

And it seemed to peak whenever Ron was with them, and being intimate with Hermione. Harry found it hard to watch. He assumed this was just because of the weirdness. The three of them had been the best of friends for years, so to see the two of them holding hands, hugging, kissing, that sort of thing, was bound to be a little odd at first. Surely, Harry thought, he would get used to it over time. But for the time being it made him feel more depressed and cross with each act of fawning he was forced to witness.

And more desperately alone with each one.

Which was why he'd turned away from the Great Hall on his way to scavenge some breakfast. He'd spotted Ron and Hermione sat close together in the sparse hall, Hermione absently playing with Ron's hair. The sight made Harry's stomach roil and he didn't feel like food any more. He span on his heel and exited the castle completely. He wandered for a while before eventually ending up at the long stairway down to the boathouse. It should be relatively safe down at the boathouse. Harry could wallow there for a while.

But when he reached the bottom of the steps he found someone else was already there. Company hadn't been on his agenda for the day, but his footsteps had sounded on the plank decking. He couldn't simply run away. The blonde head of Luna Lovegood turned at the sound. She smiled at him.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Luna," said Harry. He walked up to her. She was sat on the end of the jetty, with her legs dangling over the edge and her robes pulled up around her knees. Her white socks were bunched up inside her little shoes next to her. She looked up sweetly.

"You can join me, if you like," she said. "It's nice and peaceful down here."

Harry decided he did like, so he sat down crossed-legged and looked out over the water of the lake, flat and still, except for the ripples where Luna's toes bothered the surface below them. Neither spoke. Both content, it would seem, to simply immerse themselves in the silence. It was quite nice, sat there like that. Harry could waste away the day, not thinking, with just Luna for company. And if they didn't speak that was perfectly alright. With Luna it might be a normal thing. If Harry closed his eyes, none of it had happened. There was nothing to suggest anything was wrong.

But it was. The whole damned world was wrong. For now though, that belonged somewhere else. Harry opened his eyes again.

"Do you often come down here?" he asked.

"Yes, quite often," said Luna, turning her wide, globular eyes on him. "Not many people come here, so I can be by myself. And there's no-one to make nasty comments about me. Its nice to not hear them all the time."

Harry felt a searing slice of sympathy cross his heart. Poor Luna. She had such a hard time. He wanted to put his arm around her, tell her that it was other people who had the problem. But that wasn't his way. And Luna might get the wrong idea with physical contact. He was enjoying just being sat there with her, he didn't want to make it weird.

"It's probably perfect for you," Luna went on. "I know I'd want some peace and quiet if it were me. Not having to talk about it all the time."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry sighed. "Not much chance of it though. Everyone wants to corner me all the time."

"That cant be nice," said Luna. "If you want to get out of sight for a bit we can always take a boat out onto the lake. Its even quieter out there."

"Okay, yeah, lets do that," said Harry. The idea was appealing.

Luna jumped up and pulled her socks and shoes back on. She went into the boathouse proper and a few minutes later emerged on the water inside a little canoe. Harry climbed in and sat opposite her, then Luna tapped the hull of the boat with her wand and they began to move off gently. Harry looked up the castle as the boat moved further and further away from shore.

From here the full extent of the damage could be truly appreciated. And as Harry looked at the devastation, he felt the extent of his own internal damage bubble up to the surface. He fought back more tears. He wouldn't let that happen in public. Not with Luna, who never cried despite the bullying and tormenting she had endured for years. Harry simply closed his eyes and bowed his head forward.

The boat slowed to a stop and bobbed gently on the tide. Harry shuddered as he battled the horrors dancing around his mind. He couldn't move. They were crippling him. He wrung his hands together brutally, as though trying to squash away the pain coursing through him. Suddenly, and quite surprisingly, he felt Luna take his hands in her own and hold them quite still. She had leaned in too and placed her head on his dipped shoulder. She had turned her head away from him. If he cried now, she wouldn't see. But Harry wouldn't give in. He simply pressed his forehead into her collarbone and sighed deeply at the contact. It wouldn't make it better, but it might help for a while.

Time passed slowly on the lake. The silence, the unmoving water, nothing to mark the passage of the minutes, the hours. For it was hours by the time they decided to return to shore. Harry felt a little better, calmer. It had been therapeutic and he was thankful to Luna for letting him share her day. He put a friendly arm around her shoulders as they walked back up to the school. Part of him wished he could help her too, but he knew the cruelty of others was not so easily undone.

"Thanks for today, Luna," said Harry as they made to part at the Entrance Hall. "I needed that."

Luna looked at him. She smiled sadly. "It'll get easier, Harry. You just need time. You need to adjust. It wont always be this bad. Take care."

And with that she walked away. Harry watched her go, wondering if he'd ever see her again. He turned away and walked up the broken remains of the main staircase. He felt the shadows begin to press on him again, with each piece of wreckage he came across. How much of this was unnecessary? How much could be blame on himself? All of it, probably. He sighed wearily. He was so tired. Tired through his bones and sinew to his very soul. Something had broken in him and he had no idea if it could ever be fixed.

He walked on for ages, down corridors, through rooms, up one staircase and down another. He had no mind for his direction. He turned a corner and found himself facing the Observation Deck of the Astronomy Tower. It was largely intact. And it was empty. It would do as a place to sit.

Harry made his way up to the parapet. It was dark now. The stars were popping into view in a cloudless sky. The moon was full risen to the West. Harry felt a knot of nausea strike him. Lupin. He wouldn't have to worry about transforming tonight. Or any night. Or his son, left alone in a callous world. Harry's Godson. What would he be like? Would he truly understand, as Lupin had said? Or would he hate Harry, resent him for his absent parents? That was more likely. Harry knew what it felt like to be full of hate for the murderer of parents. He could understand. And if Teddy came looking for revenge, or an absolution, Harry wouldn't stop him.

It was a dark future.

"Harry? There you are! We've been looking all over."

Hermione's voice jerked Harry back to his mind. He didn't like her use of _we_. It suggested company and Harry rather felt like being on his own. He looked past Hermione but she didn't seem to have anyone with her. That changed things, weirdly enough. She could stay if she wanted, as long as it was just her.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, joining him on the stone bench.

"Out," Harry replied.

"Just out?" Hermione echoed.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"All day?"

Harry simply looked at her, trying to convey the pointlessness of her questions.

"I'm worried about you, Harry," said Hermione gently. She took his hand in both of hers. "You haven't been right since...well... _you know what_. We can talk about it, if you want to."

"I don't," said Harry. He looked away from her. "I don't want to talk at all."

"It doesn't do well to bottle things up," Hermione implored.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Harry snapped. He felt immediately ashamed at Hermione's hurt look. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. He was hit by another of those dark surges. It came from nowhere and washed over him, enveloping his mind. He was going to go mad. He knew it. He couldn't cope with all this.

"It's alright," Hermione said gently. "I'm here for you."

"But that's wrong, too," said Harry, somewhat desperately. "You have your own hurting to do. Your own wrongs to right with your parents. And there's this thing with you and Ron, obviously."

"This _thing?_ " Hermione's tone was questioning and mildly amused. "You mean my being his girlfriend?"

"Yeah, er, that."

"What about it?"

"Nothing, so don't look at me like that," said Harry, who wasn't sure how Hermione _was_ looking at him, if he was honest. But it was a strange look.

"Do you have a problem with it?"

"Seeing his tongue down your throat isn't the most pleasant sight, I must admit," said Harry, smirking slightly.

Hermione laughed. "You're so crude, Harry. But seriously, this isn't a problem for you, is it? It wont change anything between us, you know. You're still my best friend."

Harry looked at her and shook his head. "Are you mental? It changes _everything_ between us. Between all three of us. But that doesn't matter right now. None of it does."

"Of course it does!" said Hermione hotly. "I don't want you to think it'll put distance between us, because it wont. I wont let it."

"You're wrong...it will ," said Harry. He stood up and moved away from her. "This thing with you and Ron...it excludes me in more ways than you know. I cant be around you both right now. Maybe ever. Trust me, it will be easier that way."

"Easier? What are you talking about?"

"You should know, you're the smartest witch of our age," said Harry. "But if you don't, I'm not going to spell it out for you. Ron knows, but I doubt he'll tell you either."

"Harry...you aren't making any sense," said Hermione.

Harry turned to her, a sad smile crept onto his face. "Wow. I've finally found a subject to stump Hermione Granger! If you want extra homework - which we both know you do - you can try and work it out. When you do, you'll understand why I have to deal with this on my own."

"You aren't on your own!" Hermione protested. "Harry, you're scaring me. I don't know where you are going with this. And I really don't like it."

Harry sighed and leaned back on the barrier of the parapet.

"I killed Tom Riddle," said Harry quietly. "I did. Nobody else. I have to deal with that. And in my own way. It's going to be hard, a long and dark process, but I don't think anybody can help. Not really. And you've just started a relationship with Ron. He needs you to be with him now, he'll expect you to be. He'll resent me if you don't. You should go to him."

"But if _you_ need me -"

"Hermione - _I'm_ not your boyfriend!" said Harry, cutting her off quickly. "If you prioritise me over Ron now, you'll regret it later. Trust me, I'm right about this."

"Ron will understand," Hermione reasoned.

"You do _know_ Ron, yes?" asked Harry sarcastically. "He's insecure enough as it is. Now he's finally gotten you, he'll not be best pleased to still have to share you with me. Especially at the beginning of your relationship. Its...its why ours wont be...why it _cant be_...the same anymore."

"Harry stop saying things like that," said Hermione. She got up and moved to him. "You're sounding like we'll have to stop seeing each other. _That_ isn't going to happen. We're still going to be in each other's lives. I need you in mine. Who else am I going to vent to when Ron gets on my nerves!"

Harry allowed himself a small chuckle. "It'll be better if I'm not in anyone's life for a while. Not till I've come to terms with everything. I need to be on my own. It's for the best."

"Well I'm not leaving you until I know you're okay," said Hermione. "Last time I did that you decided to commit suicide by going to Voldemort."

"I _had_ to," said Harry, surprised at Hermione's change of direction. "It was Dumbledore's plan, the only way."

"Nonsense," Hermione said angrily. "It was foolish and downright reckless. We would have found another way, one not quite so moronically dangerous."

"And what would that have been?"

"Oh, I don't know, Harry!" said Hermione, impassioned. "We would have thought of something. But that's an argument for another day. Right now all I care about is you being well."

"I'm fine."

"You're a bad liar, Harry. Look, I'm leaving for Australia in a few days. I don't want to go off and leave Ron to look after you if you're really in a bad way. That's not exactly in his skill set."

"I told you. I'm okay," said Harry. "I just need rest and a bit of time. Ron and I can always speak Parseltongue if I get really down."

Hermione turned bodily to fully look at Harry. Her eyes were suspicious and questioning. "Now what is that tone supposed to mean? What Ron managed to do was quite brilliant."

"Yeah, I remember you saying," said Harry bitterly. "I didn't know the Dark Arts were such a turn on for you."

Hermione looked genuinely upset by the comment. Harry bowed his head again. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"What has gotten into you? I'm really worried, Harry. You aren't yourself."

"I know, I know," said Harry quietly.

He could feel his mood take a nosedive. There was a flash of green in his mind, an anguished cry. Harry's neck was cold but a sweat was forming there. Anger and hatred and despair were swimming through him. It wasn't right that anyone should be a potential target, especially Hermione, who alone had tried to help him.

"That's why I need to be on my own. I need to process all of this, and everyone is better off staying out of the way while I do...so...I'd like you to go now. Please?"

Hermione looked like she was about to cry at the sudden dismissal. "If...if that's what you want."

Harry nodded. "It is."

It wasn't. In fact, he wanted Hermione to stay and find a way to make it all better. If anyone could it would be her. But he had to send her away. He couldn't keep her with him, it was far too selfish of him, despite his need for her. But sending her away cut him to ribbons as he did it. Something had changed regarding her. Harry knew it, in a distant sort of way. But the morbid thoughts dominating his mind obscured it. He couldn't think on that right now. He just had to protect her for her own good.

"Please, Hermione. Please go."

Harry couldn't even look at her. A wave of self-loathing wouldn't permit it. He felt her move away from him rather than saw her go. She lingered for a moment, then turned slowly and left him alone. He missed her as soon as she was out of sight.

* * *

Sirius was sat on Harry's four-poster. That was odd enough. The fact he was wearing a sparkly party hat was even stranger. He and Harry were talking about the afterlife, comparing experiences of it. It was pretty close to the day when Sirius had fallen through the veil at the Department of Mysteries. Harry had no idea what the actual date was, so it was good enough for a Deathday party of sorts.

Super Ted was there as well, sat on Neville Longbottom's old bed, pulling up the zipper to his outfit over and over again and not really saying much. There was a house-elf sat close by, too. It may have been Dobby, but he had a jackal-head and Harry was a little unnerved by it. He kept making chirruping noises. It was hypnotic but very peculiar. It made Harry sleepy. He really needed sleep.

For it had been at least three days since he last remembered sleeping.

There was a knock at the door. It opened and Ron came in.

"Ah Ron, there you are," said Harry brightly. "We were wondering when you would turn up. Speaking of which, did you bring the turnip? We haven't much food here."

Ron looked warily at him. He was hanging back in the doorway. He didn't want to come in.

"What's the matter, mate?" said Harry. "There's plenty of room to sit down. Oi, budge up Quaffle-Man. We have guests."

Harry looked crossly at the Quaffle opposite him, who had a paper boy body. He was very rude to take up so much space.

"I...I'm not going to stay, Harry," said Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Everyone's gone home now. You're pretty much the only one left in the castle, besides Hagrid and McGonagall."

"Oh, are they coming up?" asked Harry. "I'd better conjure some more plates. Do you know the spell for it?"

Ron didn't know the spell. And Harry didn't seem to know that he couldn't cast spells with his toothbrush, or that his actual wand had been locked away for safe keeping.

"No...no they're not coming, Harry," said Ron. He didn't look normal at all.

"You alright, buddy?" asked Harry lightly. "You look all messed up. Fidgety and stuff. Maybe Hermione can kiss it better."

He laughed at his own joke, laughed maniacally as though it were the funniest gag ever written. Ron looked more perturbed than ever.

"Hermione's gone to Australia," said Ron. "You remember, right."

"Australia? Why's she in Australia?"

"She went to get her parents back."

"Were they on holiday there? I heard its nice."

"No, she..."

Ron tailed off. Either he'd forgotten himself or he knew it would be pointless to explain.

"I tell you who else is in Australia, Ron," said Harry, whispering excitedly. "Sydney!...ha ha...Get it, Sydney's in Australia...ha ha!"

Ron smiled weakly, desperately searching for anything left of the Harry he knew.

"Why didn't you laugh?" asked Harry, seriously. "We used to laugh all the time. It was funny. Super Ted laughed. I don't think we should be friends if we can't laugh."

"We'll laugh when you're better," said Ron. "I was hoping you'd be okay to come with us to the Burrow, but I think you'd better stay here. The Hospital Wing might be a better place for you."

"But I'm not in the Hospital Wing, you silly ginger mushroom," Harry said with a laugh. He turned to share the joke with Sirius, but he was gone. They were all gone. Except for Ron, who was still there, still looking pale and concerned. And it turned out he was right. Harry _was_ in the Hospital Wing. How did he end up here? Must have been those angry cuts he had on his arms. How did that happen? He couldn't remember.

Then he screamed.

It was loud, angered. He roared and struggled against the binds holding him fast to the bed. Then Madam Pomfrey was there, trying to force potion into his mouth. He couldn't move his arms to fight her off. He swallowed reluctantly. The potion tasted of chocolate and honey. It wasn't bad. It calmed him. He stopped struggling and lay back.

"Will he be alright?" Ron was asking.

"It's impossible to say," Pomfrey replied. "The damage to his mind is difficult to assess. All we can do is make him comfortable until he can heal himself enough. But don't worry, he will be quite safe here."

Then Harry remembered. He knew why he was here, and he felt ashamed.

"Ron," he croaked.

"Yes mate, I'm here."

"I wont make it to the funeral, I'm sorry," said Harry.

"Don't worry about that," said Ron. "Just focus on getting better."

"You sound like Hermione," said Harry, smiling at the thought of her. He wished she was here with him, but he daren't tell Ron that, tell him how much he was missing her. At least, when he was cogent enough to. "Ron - do me a favour? Don't tell her about this. She'll only worry."

"I wont say a word," Ron reassured him. "I...I have to go. As soon as you're well enough, you can come to ours. Mum can look after you."

Harry doubted that greatly. He smiled meekly, but the room was swimming again. It fell out of focus. He took one last look at Ron. There was an odd glint in his eyes, something like triumph flashed across them. Harry couldn't explain that. Then the rest of the potion took him, and he fell out of consciousness.

* * *

The memories flooded Harry's mind as he raced up the final piece of slope and entered the Great Hall. That gleam he'd seen in Ron's eye that night. He'd almost forgotten it. It was sort of victorious. Why would he have thought that, with Harry in such a broken state? What sort of friend would think something in such a moment?

Harry knew exactly why.

Ron thought he'd won, emerged victorious in his long, unspoken duel with Harry. Voldemort had done the bulk of the damage, physical and mental, and Ron had topped it off by taking Hermione. He'd always been suspicious of how close Harry and Hermione were. They'd fallen out over it several times. And after what Ginny had said...it all made sense now. Ron had _always_ known. Even if Harry didn't. He could see the one thing that Harry was too blind to recognise.

So he took Hermione from Harry. Scored the ultimate victory. Then revelled in the destruction he had caused.

Maybe Ron had thought that Harry wouldn't recover. He'd never bothered to check on him. That night was the last time Harry had seen him. Perhaps Ron was banking on a long stay in St Mungo's for Harry, mindless and lost and no longer a threat. He probably wouldn't have even told Hermione where he was. In case she dared to care for him. Ron didn't like to share his toys. And Hermione would have been his greatest one.

Even fucking Voldemort knew that. Harry remembered the night of _that_ revelation vividly. The images of himself and Hermione emerging from the locket, dark and ethereal, but hopelessly entwined. And that kiss, so primal, so passionate. No wonder Ron was so jealous of them, if that was burning inside them. But it was that moment where their friendship broke forever. Harry knew Ron's heart, as Lord Voldemort had. Saw at once his greatest desire and greatest fear in visceral relief.

And he and Ron could never be the same again.

Ron would never get over that, never let it go. As long as Harry was part of his life he'd never totally dismiss that paranoia. He'd always wonder _what if?_ And if Harry ever worked it out, discovered the real reason he and Hermione were so close, he'd become a very real threat. Sure, Hermione had displayed her affection for Ron, but could he be certain that'd be enough if Harry suddenly threw his hat into the ring?

Harry rather thought that he and Hermione already shared a connection that went beyond mere friendship, it always had. He would bet it was stronger than her connection to Ron even when they were together. Merlin, she'd offered to run away with him the night he left, hadn't she? What did that say about it? He dearly wished he had taken her along now. Stuck two fingers up at the world and told them all to go fuck themselves.

And if anything had happened between them it would have been natural and just. It would be the proper order of things, as Harry now saw that he was meant to be with her. It was just how nature had intended it. They'd both come alone from the Muggle world, discovered magic and found each other. It gave their connection a profound depth. Harry felt he'd endured all these things, all his life, to recognise true love and deep, lifelong companionship when it finally presented itself.

The fact that his destined partner was with someone else at the time was just window dressing. He would have to go.

And if Ron tried to debate Harry's logic now they would have to fight for it. Or let Hermione choose once and for all. Harry fancied his chances in that.

Then he skidded into the Great Hall. It was half-full. It would be a little exposed for a showdown, but Harry wasn't bothered. He had no mind for them. He spotted Ron, his fucking ginger cunt head obvious across the room. He was facing Hermione, who was stood up opposite him, facing away from Harry. Luna Lovegood was sat down on a bench nearby. She was an odd observer to the party.

Then Ron looked up.

He looked over Hermione's shoulder and his eyes locked with Harry's. Daggers of deep loathing shot between them. Harry didn't know this man. His best friend wasn't in that body. He was as dead to him as Voldemort. But in his eyes, there was that gleam of victory again. It threw Harry off, curtailed his confrontational mood.

Then Ron took Hermione's head his his hands and kissed her tenderly. He looked up mid-kiss, pinioned Harry with his gaze again. He had won, and they both knew it. Harry was wrong.

And the world fell from beneath his feet.

* * *

Hermione pushed angrily into Ron's chest, throwing him away from her. Acidic rage bubbled beneath her skin. She spat the remnants of the kiss at Ron's feet and turned aggressively towards him. He was nearly a foot-and-a-half taller than her, but she rose up like a lioness in the face of him.

"How _dare_ you!" she cried angrily. "What the hell do you think you are doing?!"

"You're my girlfriend," said Ron. "I'm kissing you. That's what we are supposed to do."

"Girlfriend! Ha!" Hermione spiked. "There're lots of things we are _supposed_ to do. Like being _faithful_. I've been back at Hogwarts barely a week and you run off with some other slag!"

"Oh, that," said Ron, bashfully. "That's not what it looked like."

"Ahem," Luna coughed lightly from down below. Ron and Hermione ignored her.

"Oh really?" Hermione snapped acridly. "And what about all the others? Just paper talk, is it? I knew you were enjoying all this attention, I just never guessed quite _how_ much."

"It isn't like that, Herms, you have to believe me."

" _Ahem,_ " Luna tried again. A little more forcefully.

"Do you mind staying out of this, Luna?" said Ron coolly. "It isn't any of your business."

"Don't you talk to her like that," said Hermione forcefully, rounding on Ron. "She's done nothing wrong here. That's all you."

"Herms, please -"

"Stop calling me that! I hate it when you call me that!"

"AHEM!" said Luna, standing up fully now. "I'm not talking to you, Ronald. I don't think you're very nice. But Hermione, I think you should know - Harry was just here. He saw you kissing."

Hermione's jaw hit the floor. She span around. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where was he? Are you sure it was him?"

Luna smiled sadly. "I think everyone would recognise Harry Potter. He was in the doorway but he went away when he saw you kiss. He looked very upset."

Hermione panicked and tried to race after Harry but Ron tugged on her robes and yanked her back.

"If you run to that prick now, we're done. It's over."

Hermione glared hard at him. "Do you think this hasn't been over for a while? Fuck me, Ron, I wish it had never _started!_ Now let me go."

He did so and Hermione took up the chase. Her heart was thumping beneath her rib cage. She had to catch Harry, to tell him, to make him see...

She couldn't let him escape again, not when they were so close now. It was going to happen, this beautiful dream she'd dared to let herself believe was going to come true. Harry was going to tell her he loved her and they were going to be together. And it would be perfect. If only she could get to him.

But she was too late.

She spotted him outside the school gates. Cameras were flashing from the assembled reporters. They lit up his eyes as Hermione came close enough to see. He was heartbroken, total and complete devastation flicked across every line of his expression. She knew instantly she was right about everything she'd only ever cautiously hoped for. She could see his love for her etched into every line of the pain striking him, as he considered what she humbly realised was his greatest ever loss. Despite all the horrors he had been through, losing her was more devastating than anything he'd ever experienced.

And she couldn't tell him how totally wrong he was. Tell him how she was so utterly his, if he'd just wait a moment and take her to him.

But then he was gone.

He hadn't even seen her. He just vanished in a swirl of light and colour. Hermione felt the breath be knocked out of her lungs. She fell to her knees, clutched at her chest and panted hard. She couldn't breath, or think, or move. Harry was gone, and the last thought was of her ultimate betrayal of him. He wouldn't come back now. What was there for him to return to, in his poor, broken mind? Hermione wailed at the agony, a whir of uncontrolled panic smashing about her brain. Her heart had been torn asunder and was being cast down on jagged rocks.

She'd lost him. Just when she was on the cusp of taking that terrifying leap to confess all to him. Now he was gone. Gone forever. She was mindless, she couldn't think straight for the reality. It cut at her mind. She wasn't sure where she was. Wild, random thoughts punched at her, she couldn't control them. Her mind, so well ordered and sure, was in turmoil. And she couldn't stem the tide of chaos.

"Hermione!"

Ron's voice cut into the void Hermione was in danger of falling into. It brought her back to the moment. And it brought to her a whole new definition of anger. She leapt up, she felt a little crazed. Ron was the cause of all this. He was the reason Harry had never shown an interest in her. It was because of him that she and Harry had never considered getting together. He was in the way. Harry was too noble to risk upsetting his best friend and his happiness. Even at the cost of his own. He'd resign himself to a slut like Ginny instead.

One Big Happy Fucking Weasley Family.

The concept made Hermione physically sick, and angry beyond description. She and Harry, sacrificing a beautiful life together to pacify that pack of pricks. They'd be poor, they'd have everything second-hand, they'd make their own clothes. They'd have to, just to fit in. Or else accept Ron and Ginny stepping up from their station in life, upgrading to people like Harry and Hermione. They'd have to provide for them.

_Freeloading fucktards._

Hermione's ire was free-flowing now. She wouldn't stand for it. She'd find Harry, somehow. She would make him understand, make it up to him. For not being there for him as she should have been. She'd make him forgive her. But first she had to deal with Ron, and they were beyond words now. He had driven Harry away, and Hermione was fairly certain he'd done it on purpose. He must have seen Harry, as Luna had. Then he'd kissed her, to mark his territory.

Who the fuck did he think he was? Hermione reached for her wand...

But then she was thrown backwards and slammed hard into the floor. The back of her head collided with something mis-shapen and solid, and ridged. Her eyes streamed, she was losing her senses. There were angry cries from somewhere. Hermione looked up with unfocused eyes. Someone was advancing on her, wand raised. Hermione groped helplessly for her own, but it was kicked away from her searching fingers. Long red hair, the mane of her attacker, loomed large over her, as she finally succumbed to the encroaching darkness...

* * *

_**Two months earlier...** _

Ginny Weasley.

Of all the things that had angered her about the night, Ginny was near the top of the list. It had been a night of moronic comments, Hermione could still hear her parents arguing about the worst of them down the hall. She was glad her bedroom wall was muffling the details, she felt it was all a little too raw to face up to right now. But of all the things to give Hermione cause for serious thought, Ginny's comments were right up there.

And they were both irksome and concerning in equal measure.

It was all about Harry, who Hermione realised she'd been consciously blocking from her mind for a good couple of weeks. She had never actively avoided thinking about him before, but now she was steering clear of anything to do with him. She could have _obliviated_ herself and the effect might not have been quite so reaching. For Harry had now become a potently dangerous topic in her mind and she feared delving too deeply into it.

It had started that night he sent her away. She could tell he didn't really want to. It was just noble Harry being himself. She thought she ought to give him a little space if that's what he really needed. But then she started analysing some of the things he'd said, about why it was better for him not to be around her and Ron. And ultimately it had led to her staying away from him, as she felt too unnerved to go and see him. What had he meant by it all?

There were two obvious possibilities. The most sensible one was that he was cognizant of Ron's jealousy. They had had a spat or two about her in the past. Hermione knew there was nothing deeper to it, but Harry was just that considerate a person. He knew of Ron's irrationality and didn't want to stoke it by being in the way. Even if he needed help himself.

Which Hermione knew he did, more deeply than he was ever likely to let on. But, again, as was Harry's way, he prioritised others before himself. He might have needed comfort, companionship, but Hermione knew she was the only one likely to be able to provide for him. Her and Ron's new situation made that awkward. Harry recognised that more readily than she did. So he sent her away, probably thinking it was for her own good.

But he'd sent her away with plenty to think on. Even if Ron's jealousy was the main factor, there was that other, niggling sense that Harry had given her. That there was more to it than just simple jealousy, and that Harry was somehow involved. That Ron's jealousy was _specific_ to him. Hermione couldn't rightly imagine that. What did it mean?

Again, the obvious answer was that it was an extension of Ron's overriding jealousy of Harry. There was no secret to that. Harry didn't mean to be, but he just happened to be better than Ron at most of the things Ron valued. His KPI stats were simply higher. That wasn't Harry's fault, but it added to the self-doubt and sense of being undervalued that Ron had always carried with him. Harry was the hero, Ron was the sidekick. What that made Hermione was something she had never truly examined.

Now that she did, it opened up the other potential reason behind Harry's cryptic words. Ron knew something, something that would mean Harry had to leave them alone. It pointed to a specific kind of jealousy, one that was distinctly Harry Potter-shaped. And not just in a general way, but in a _romantic_ kind of way. As though Ron considered Harry as a genuine, romantic rival for Hermione's affections. She shut down that train of thought as soon as she had it. It was beyond absurd, and though she'd considered it at times in the past, Harry had made it clear he wasn't interested. That was where she had curtailed her own interest.

But what if she'd been wrong? It was the most unlikely thing in the world. Neville playing Quidditch for England whilst riding a dragon was more plausible. But Harry had said Ron knew something, and Harry wasn't going to tell her what it was. Could Harry have been harbouring secret feelings for her? Did Ron know, and did that mean Ron wouldn't want him around? Did that make his jealousy not only no longer irrational, but actually justifiable? Did they both know, and Harry had agreed to stay away? It would be the kind of thing he did.

If any of this wasn't so utterly laughable.

Hermione would have more readily believed Harry had feelings for Ron than for her. It was the lesser of two fallacies. In any case, if Harry _did_ have feelings for her what did that matter? It wouldn't change anything. Hermione was in a relationship with Ron now. She'd chased him for at least a couple of years. She'd known he'd fancied her for ages. It wouldn't make even the slightest difference to Hermione if she knew that Harry fancied her, too.

Or would it?

At the first hint of Hermione thinking that, actually, maybe it _would_ , she stopped thinking at all about it on the spot. It was wrong to allow it. What would Ron say? That was when the roadblocks flew up. She became proficient at them. She had to because, it seemed, Harry Potter had permeated her life so deeply that she found him everywhere she turned. He was in the moving pictures on her nightstand, his years of letters were still bundled together in her underwear drawer. She didn't know why they were _there_ , of all places, but that's where she found them.

He was in her textbooks, too. Apart from the chapters and pieces on him - which were all highlighted or turned down at the page corners - she found a scrap of parchment in _New Theory of Numerology,_ on which she had compared the numerical properties of their names and found some interesting connections. She also saw, in earlier books, where she had written their initials together and encircled them in little hearts. She blushed crimson as she saw them; she'd forgotten she used to do that. She closed them books and threw them into a cupboard to gather dust.

She'd managed to avoid any thoughts of Harry till she found her parents in New South Wales. The arid heat didn't sit well with Hermione, but she was more unsettled by her parents' reaction to news she had a boyfriend now. And even more startled that this new boyfriend _wasn't_ Harry. They'd seemed so sure of it.

At first she thought she'd done the memory reversal spell wrong. It was quite complicated, after all. Maybe she'd addled their brains. But everything else seemed accurate. She'd conducted extensive tests, as the medi-witch from St Mungo's had suggested, and they both passed perfectly. They remembered everything. But they also remembered _this_ , and Hermione was at a loss to work out where they'd gotten that idea from.

When she'd pressed her mother about it, she'd been reluctant to say too much. Perhaps she thought she would be doing Hermione's _actual_ boyfriend a disservice, to be pointing out all the reasons for believing Hermione would have ended up with her other best friend. But the surprise was not lost on Hermione, who had tentatively searched her mind for the core of that idea. She must have put it there, as she was the only source of information. But she was sure it wasn't intentional.

But did that make it worse? Did it make it more truthful?

She had often been tempted to exaggerate her relationship with Harry, back when she was in serious danger of developing a huge crush on him. She'd fought it fiercely. It was humiliating. It was easier in school time, where people knew who they were and she only had to look at Harry's reactions to her, and other girls, to shoot down any fleeting hopes she might have felt.

He was so easy to fancy, that was the problem. Everything from his cute shyness and insecurity, to his dashing heroism and kindness to others. He was all sorts of right, but a little dark and intense to go with it. He was fascinating, and this made him alluring. He only improved as he got older, and the fact he didn't get rid of Hermione as a friend - which she half-expected him to - only allowed her to get closer to him. And then they shared some seriously intimate and personal moments. Sometimes with others, but sometimes just the two of them. And Hermione had to really learn to fight hard before she fell too deeply.

Then she would be at home, and if she thought about him when he wasn't around to correct her she could imagine all kinds of things. Had she let this slip to her parents? Had they caught her off-guard, daydreaming about Harry and she gave away too much? Maybe she had. Though it can't have been a bad thing. They'd seemed genuinely excited to meet him. She must have painted a pretty picture.

How different must _that_ have been to the actual reality of Ron and the Weasleys they'd met that evening?

Which brought her back around to Ginny. Her comments about wanting to get back with Harry had sparked something in Hermione. It was something covetous, oddly enough. She wanted to steer Ginny away from Harry, _on purpose_. Why would she want to do that? Poor Harry, he was so alone. He might _need_ Ginny. Hermione couldn't imagine why the fuck he would, but stranger things had happened. Maybe. But that's what she had done, and it only occurred to her now what a callous thing that was to do.

Was she condemning Harry to be alone, or was it something else? Some deep-seated reason that didn't want Harry to be in a relationship with anybody. She tried to console herself that maybe she didn't think Ginny was good enough for Harry, that she was doing a good deed and looking out for him. But there was a selfish element she couldn't overlook, or _look at_ now it had happened.

For it was jealousy, plain and simple. Hermione had always felt a little jealous of Ginny, for her confidence and ease with boys. She'd felt a _tonne_ of jealousy seeing her with Harry, but she'd always assumed she was pining over Ron and that was the cause of it. It made her feel lonely. But now she wasn't so sure. Could she have been actually jealous of not being with Harry _herself_ , some secret desire she'd walled away now peeking over the ramparts of her heart-fort?

She deeply hoped not.

It would be so problematic if that turned out to be true. She was dating his best friend. It was what she'd wanted. But then that niggling question about Harry... _what if_? It would change everything, she knew that as surely as the swish and flick of _wingardium leviosa._ She didn't really want to deconstruct it. She thought she might rather be single than be with Ron knowing Harry liked her. For the landmines between them getting together were gargantuan. If there was anything to this whimsical imagining.

She wondered if Harry was still awake, wherever he was. He had better still be at Hogwarts, where he would at least be safe.. Hermione startled herself by how fiercely she felt she'd react if she found he wasn't there, if the Weasleys failure to look after him had been so profound. She might not forgive them for it. She might not forgive them anyway. Their display that night had been bad enough.

Her parents were still arguing down the hall. Hermione wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too mortified by all that had gone on. Her parents were furious. They had every right to be. She just hoped they would calm down by the morning, that they wouldn't react knee-jerk like. But Hermione wouldn't sleep. She might just get up...wait for her parents to chide her, get it over with. She got out of bed and pulled her nightgown on...

* * *

Hermione pulled her nightie off. It was practically drenched in sweat. Her knickers came next, soaked for a very different reason. Hermione was still shaking from the dream as she put on clean clothes and stowed her soiled garments in her linen basket. She would have to clean them herself later. It would save any awkward confrontations with her mother.

Perhaps less easy to avoid was the confrontation with herself. She could barely stand, such was the weakness in her knees, and the aroma of her arousal was heady in her own nostrils. Her heart rate was just about slowing to normal, but her mind was more than making up for it running, it seemed, at a hundred miles an hour.

For she'd just had a vivid, sexual dream... _about Harry._

It had come out of nowhere, no pun intended. She'd been having a nice, usual dream. Reading a book in the Gryffindor Common Room, quite alone. Then, unexpectedly, Harry had walked in. He looked like he'd come from the Quidditch pitch. He was a little sweaty, eyes bright from the exercise. It stirred something in Hermione's loins. He'd sat down next to her, a little too close. It made Hermione's pulse jump up a notch. Harry had asked where Ron was. It seemed important for him to know. He was staring at her legs, which were inexplicably bare. Hermione felt exposed, but excitedly so. She used her book for cover. Harry noticed. He licked his lips, took a swift look around, then swatted the book away and pounced on her. She offered not a second of resistance and let him take her passionately, before pushing him to the floor and returning the favour. She woke up just as Harry had bent her over the back of the battered couch, his rigidness rubbing her from front to back. She thrilled to know where he would go...

Then she choked as she woke up, battling her sparse breathing as if fighting to stay alive. She almost fell out of bed in her shock. For it was extreme, and for many reasons. She'd never had _that sort_ of dream before. The closest she'd come was a bit of light petting. This was _far_ from that. She was rattled to her very core by it. She'd explored the most intimate parts of her body before, of course she had. But to wake up to her fingers doing it of their own accord was something new entirely.

And for a dream about _Harry_ to be the cause of it...well, she couldn't begin to describe what she thought about that.

She'd like to believe that the thought had come from nowhere, but that wasn't entirely the case. She'd thought a lot about Harry in the last few days, ever since he'd left her on the Astronomy Tower. He'd kissed her, and told her she looked beautiful. She'd melted at both, and the combined effect had destroyed all the blocks she'd put in her mind about him.

And, it would seem, opened up a whole new valve too.

Hermione felt a swell a guilt, through her waves of stimulation. What about Ron? What would he make of all this? She decided it best not to tell him. He was having too much of a good time taking the attention in Harry's absence. He seemed to be enjoying it. To think Harry was still very much around, albeit in the lusty part of Hermione's mind, would certainly sour him. And Hermione didn't want that.

She was finding it hard enough to be around him as it was. These night time thoughts were creeping into her daytime, too. It made her awkwardly uncomfortable around Ron. The unease she'd begun at the celebration at Hogwarts had only gotten worse. She feared to think how bad things could get. Especially if her acute missing of Harry was manifesting like this.

She dearly wanted to stop thinking about him. It was affecting her sanity. But she had an even stronger wish to know how he was, where he was, how he was getting on. He'd seemed so hurt, so broken. It couldn't be good for him to be on his own. And she felt a piercing guilt that he should have done more. If it wasn't for Ron, being in the way, she surely would have. It might have saved her from these dreams. She felt guilty about that too, but not nearly as much as she should have. The images of her and Harry were still floating pleasantly around her mind.

Maybe she'd try and give sleep another go. Just in case Harry hadn't finished with her...


	11. No Matter What

Harry ambled along Diagon Alley, peering in at the different shop fronts and thinking what he could spend his gold on to cheer himself up. All the while he was ignoring the inevitable stares and glances directed his way. He was pretty used to all this anyway. Nothing had really changed as far as that was concerned. He'd killed Voldemort once before, and people had wanted to shake his hand and talk to him. This was a new version of that. New faces, new names, new admirers.

But it was the same old story. Inconsiderate bell-ends intruding on his life without so much as a thought for him.

In truth, he didn't really care. Bitterness was just a travelling companion now. It had never truly gone away, but it didn't make him the most approachable celebrity on the circuit. He'd never be a candidate for the _Most Charming Smile_ Award, for he didn't smile a lot these days. Why would he? There wasn't much to smile about at all.

The weather was much nicer down here than up at Hogwarts. That was a fringe benefit. The most beautiful thing in the world happened to be residing at the old castle. Despite his shattered heart, he hadn't lost any of his powerful affection for her. He'd rather be with her in the cloudy highlands, than on his own in the mid-September London sun.

If anything, the absence was making him keener for her still.

It sliced through him that he couldn't have her. He was struggling to wrap his head around it. He'd been trying for five full days now. He was actually counting them. It was hard to get the vision of Ron kissing her from his mind. He wasn't even concerned about Ron's arrogant look. He could forget that easily enough. As far he he was concerned, Ron Weasley was something in his past. The way his oldest friend had changed over the last few years...Harry should have been more prepared for the split.

He supposed he'd just never expected it to happen as it did. Hermione at the heart of it would have been the least expected reason for the end of their friendship. Her ending up with Ron rather than him only magnified this. The latest edition of _Witch Weekly_ seemed to support the notion. He'd spotted the cover of the magazine earlier. Inside, apparently, was an expose on the love triangle that was dominating gossip in the wizarding world. The poll of teen witches seemed to favour Harry over Ron. This cheered him up. He almost bought the magazine, but that would have ended up as another front-page story.

Harry decided to treat himself to an ice-cream instead. There wouldn't be many sunny days left for them this Summer. Florean Fortesque's was just up ahead. Harry hadn't enjoyed one his famous Knickerbocker Glories in years. So he bought two. He sat in the sun, his trusty aviators covering his tired eyes, and just enjoyed some simplicity in his complicated life.

He'd forgotten how good the ice-creams were. There must be some magical ingredient weaved in there somewhere. It cheered him up as he made his way through the soft textures. It reminded him of easier times. Well, slightly easier. He watched a couple of elderly witches at the apothecary's opposite haggling over who's turn it was to buy the top-up potion supplies. It was an amusing scene. A young boy was kicking his mother down the street away from Weasleys Wheezes, howling in protest and reminding Harry very much of his cousin Dudley at that age.

"Ex-excuse me?"

Harry was disturbed by a little cough, then an even littler voice nearby. A girl, maybe eight or nine years old, was stood nervously by his table. Harry looked at her warily. He rather expected what was to come. He braced himself for it. The little girl was meek and shy, shaking down to her braided pigtails. Harry softened at the sight of her.

"Hello."

"Are...are you Harry Potter?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"Really? The real one?"

Harry chortled. "Well, I think so. Let me check."

He poked his face and lifted his fringe. "Is my scar still there? I can't see."

The girl looked wide-eyed. "Yeah! Yeah it is! You are him then."

_Well, I've felt a lot like someone else lately,_ Harry thought blithely. He decided the little girl might not appreciate sarcasm, if she understood it at all.

"What can I do for you?" Harry asked.

The little girl fidgeted on her toes and bit her lip. "Well, its just that...my Daddy...during the war...he -he wasn't himself..."

She tailed off, looking deeply troubled. Far more than a girl her age should.

"He stopped giving me hugs and playing with me. Mummy was very frightened. But then you stopped You-Know-Who. And my Daddy came home and was normal again and hugging me and kissing me like he hadn't seen me for months. Now we're all going on holiday today."

Harry felt a lump shoot into his throat. A very different type of one than he was used to.

"Th-that's nice," he croaked. "Where are you going?"

"Greece, there's lots of old magic there to see. I'm really excited."

"That sounds lovely. I hope you have a good time," said Harry.

The little girl twisted on her heels. "I- I just want to say thank you. For saving my Daddy. You saved everybody."

The little girl suddenly threw herself forward and gave Harry an awkward hug, and and even awkwarder kiss on the cheek. Harry felt very embarrassed. People were watching. If they haven't spotted him, they surely would now. The girl disengaged herself, blushing madly. Then she held out her hand, offering something.

"Will you take this?" she asked. "It's only a chocolate frog, but I'd like you to have it."

"Oh no," said Harry, smirking teasingly. "I couldn't take away a little girl's sweets!"

"It's alright, I've got loads," said the girl off-handedly. "But this is one of the new ones. They have caramel in. Please, Mr Potter, will you take it?"

She was looking so imploringly at him that he would have had to be the coldest-hearted person alive to deny her.

"Okay, if you're sure," said Harry, taking the chocolate frog. "Thank you. And have a good trip."

"I will," said the girl, beaming at him. "Bye, Mr Potter."

And she skipped away back to her table. Her mother was sat there and gave Harry a smile full of gratitude. Harry shied under the adulation, but felt his heart thaw at the same time.

He had done a good deed. It was tough to accept his own role in it, but his sacrifice had brought happiness to others. To a whole new generation. It opened up a world of possibilities for them, or at least until the next Dark Lord rose. For there were bound to be others. But that wasn't his fight. He'd won his, and though he was suffering for it, he rather felt it was better him, already damaged from a life of hurt and neglect, than some other innocent soul.

It seemed a small thing just then, that he'd killed just one wizard for all of that. He was dark, he was ugly, he could deal with it in time. It might take years, but it was just another notch on his macabre life. He'd file it away with the rest. And maybe the universe would reward him.

Or _maybe_ he'd just devour all these new chocolate frogs! Oh Merlin, these were _good_. Harry thought he'd better eat the thing, as the little girl was watching him eagerly. But he'd forgotten how good chocolate was, or maybe the caramel addition tipped him over the edge. It was like eating paradise. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the smoothness, the sweetness. It was beautiful. It was gone all too soon.

Then the trading card fell out of the box.

Harry stared at it. His ideas of beauty in food were replaced by beauty in something else. Harry was transfixed. He lifted the card up and looked at it closely, examining every bit of the witch trying to hide behind the corners of her frame, furiously and fruitlessly battling with her unruly hair. Her unruly, bushy hair.

It was Hermione.

She had her own chocolate frog card! Harry was amazed. The little Hermione on the card seemed shy, as though she'd been forced into the card against her will. Harry laughed. That was exactly how she'd feel. He couldn't wait to show her, the _real_ her, this. He could only imagine her reaction. She'd probably be mortified. Oh how Harry was going to _tease_ her! He flipped the card over and read the description.

_Hermione Granger, currently enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Widely regarded as the most powerful witch of her age, Miss Granger is particularly noted_ _as best friend and consort of Harry Potter. Holder of multiple exam score records at Hogwarts, Miss Granger is well known for her role in defeating the traitor, Quirrell, and discovering the legendary Basilisk of Hogwarts. A heroine during the Second War, Miss Granger enjoys traditional Celtic music and the ongoing work with her house-elf welfare organisation, S.P.E.W._

Harry read the card several times. He didn't know about Hermione's taste in music. Come to think of it, he didn't know much of his own taste in music. It hadn't ever really come up. He felt more of an affinity to S.P.E.W. than he ever had. Dobby was a war-hero who deserved reverence as much as any witch or wizard in Harry's opinion. And the Hogwarts elves had joined in the final battle, too. Hermione, as Harry should have guessed, was right to champion them, too.

But what was this about her being his _consort_? What was that supposed to mean? Harry only had a vague idea what consort actually meant. He thought it was some sort of advisor...but it meant partner too, didn't it? Why would the chocolate frog card have said that? Harry looked back at the picture. Little Hermione was still shying away from him. Maybe that was why.

"I wish you _were_ my consort," Harry whispered to the card, mindful of how mental the act would make him look. It seemed easier to talk to a facsimile of Hermione rather than the real thing. "Did I really get it so wrong? Weren't we almost..."

Harry tailed off. The frustration of it bothered him. He had been almost sure he knew where it was going. Hermione had shared his bed, that wasn't normal. It was the start of something new. Had he given up on it too easily? Maybe he had. It was all so confusing! If only he knew more, he could have stayed, fought for her, if only he thought there was half a chance...

Then little Hermione stepped away from the frame and stood dead centre of the card.

If a moving picture could display affection, then this was how it would look. She smiled at him so reverently that it could have been the girl herself. She was standing, a little shy and sweet, but also firm and determined. She kept rubbing the back of her head. Harry, at first, thought it was a nervous twitch, but as she kept doing it he couldn't shake the impression that she was trying to communicate something.

Was that even possible? Harry thought about it. The portraits of Hogwarts had been almost alive. That one of Phineas Nigellus, too. Harry knew little or nothing about the magic imbibed in any sort of moving photo. He remembered, on his first train journey to Hogwarts, Dumbledore left _his_ chocolate frog card. Ron had said he couldn't hang around all day. Where else could he go? Harry wished he'd found out how it all worked. He chided himself for his laziness. He decided he'd blame Ron for that, too, while he was at it.

Then he looked up and saw something totally out of place. Or, rather, _someone._

Harry had to stare very hard to believe it. He even took his sunglasses off for a moment. What could _she_ be doing here? Then she spotted him, so he threw his aviators back on to pretend he hadn't been staring. It was a foolish attempt at escape. She waved at him and came over.

"Hello, Harry. This is a nice surprise."

"The surprise is mine, Mrs Granger," said Harry, still mildly stunned at her presence.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," said Harry. "Have a seat. "I wouldn't have expected to run into you here. What brings you to Diagon Alley?"

"Hermione's birthday," said Catrin Granger, as she sat down. "It's next week. And it's been a _long_ time since a gift from Argos has been the right sort of thing."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I can imagine that. What are you thinking of getting her?"

"I'm not really sure," said Catrin. She was eyeing Harry's ice-creams curiously. "I'll be pretty safe with the thickest book I can find. But she's bound to get bored of them after a while, don't you think?"

"Hermione? Never. She can't ever have enough books. Whoever she marries better build her a library!"

Catrin looked at him shrewdly. "What about you?"

Harry shifted nervously. "What about me? I can't build..."

"I _did_ mean, what will you get Hermione for her birthday?" said Catrin, smiling gently. "Though a _marriage proposal_ would be different!"

"Yeah, it definitely would," said Harry, blushing and taking another scoop of ice-cream.

Catrin held back a laugh. "Perhaps something a little less grandiose, then."

"Definitely," said Harry, relaxing. "It'd have to be something that wouldn't make Ron jealous."

Catrin frowned. "Ron? I thought Hermione was going to end it with him?"

Harry started, his heart waited cautiously. Hermione couldn't have sent a message to her mother so soon after reading about Ron in _The Prophet,_ could she? She wouldn't have had time.

"Wh-when did she say that?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice breezy. He failed. Catrin's eyes lit up at the sound.

"The day she returned to Hogwarts," Catrin replied. "Hermione always writes us on her first day, to let us know she's arrived safe. Apparently, she saw Ron at Kings Cross. She made her decision then."

Harry fell opened mouthed. He couldn't help it. Hermione had decided to end it with Ron before knowing he cheated on her? Why would she do that? Harry had to know.

"Did she say why?"

Catrin beamed at Harry. She knew what he was fishing for. He was really bad at hiding his intentions, but it was adorable to see. Catrin had never imagined she'd play cupid for her own daughter, but now that chance had arisen she had to do this one thing for her emotionally stubborn little girl.

"A girl can change her mind every now and then," said Catrin. "I don't think Ron was ever what she truly wanted to make her happy. She saw that early into their relationship. Personally, I always thought she had feelings for... _someone_ _else._ "

Her inference was unmistakable. She wasn't even being subtle about it. Harry let his heart go and it flapped wildly around his chest. Could Hermione's mother really be suggesting what Harry thought, what he _hoped,_ she was? He suspected a parent might know their child's own mind, even though he had no experience of his own to tell him. He so desperately wanted to believe that now.

Harry's eyes fell on the chocolate frog card, propped up against his ice cream glass. Hermione was hiding again, shielding her face in an embarrassed sort of way. He smiled at her. Catrin was watching him, Harry could sense that. She was watching the copy of her daughter on the card, too, fascinated not so much with that, but with the interaction between her and Harry. The connection between them was obvious.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Harry looked up, amazed that she could have just said it like that. So simply, so assuredly. As though it was the most normal thing in the world. Was he so transparent? He couldn't answer that, couldn't answer anything. He'd had the confession of the tip of his tongue, ready to accept it to himself. Ron had stymied that, but it didn't make the truth any less real.

Harry must have betrayed his feelings because there was a change in Catrin's eyes, a softening. Harry chided himself for his lack of control. He supposed he was just that upset by the whole thing, that any mention of Hermione would bring out his heartsick misery. A part of him was sort of pleased with his pining for her. It was a much more preferable type of depression to the one he had been carrying around previously.

It was much better to be upset as a rejected lover, than to wallow as a cold hearted killer.

He looked at Catrin, and simply nodded. The chocolate frog Hermione stopped hiding. She stood, rapt, holding onto the frame of the card for support.

"Oh, Harry," said Catrin, consolingly. "For how long?"

"It's hard to say," said Harry, giving in to the reality. "I was sort of in the middle before I knew I had begun. I suppose it started when I saw her with Ron. I really didn't like it, but I was too busy with the aftermath of the war to really ask myself why. That it just kind of hit me. I've liked her for the longest time. But I was too late."

It was a little weird, confessing this to Hermione's mother. But they had that innate, comforting air in common. Harry felt quite at ease talking about it. How _she_ might feel was another matter, but for Harry's part he was quite okay. He could still see Catrin looking after his and Hermione's baby. That made him feel like he knew her far better than he really did, as though he'd brought back part of his knowledge of her from the future. He had a gut feeling that they were destined to get on really well.

"I don't think you're too late, Harry," said Catrin warmly. "Hermione has always liked you a great deal. I think she always hoped you'd show more of an interest in her. She's not the most confident girl in that area."

"I wish I had," said Harry. "I'm afraid I'm a bit dumb. I'm not good enough for your daughter."

It was the first time he'd voice that particular fear out loud. He waited on the response.

Catrin smiled. "I'm her mother, I doubt I'll think _anyone_ is good enough for her. But you might turn out to be as close as anyone could be."

Harry couldn't help but grin at that. "I'd love the chance to prove it. Any chance you can put in a good word for me!"

They shared a laugh at that. It was nice. Harry hadn't done that for a while. The feeling felt like healing to him. He'd like some more of that.

"Buy her a birthday present, Harry," said Catrin. "Not a book. Make it something personal. Give her something to think about. Give her some _encouragement_. You never know where it might lead."

Harry smiled back at her. He hadn't felt so hopeful about anything in a long while.

"Thanks, Mrs Granger, I think I'll do just that."

And he thought he might have just the thing in mind.

But just at that moment he was disturbed as a pack of owls swooped down and dropped at least twelve letters on their table. Perturbed, Harry took the first one and opened it. His stomach dropped as he read.

_Mr Potter,_

_I regret to inform you that your friend, Miss Granger, has been hurt in an accident at school. She is in a critical condition. I urge you to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible._

_I am pained to say it, but St Mungo's Healers are not hopeful. They say to prepare for the worst._

_Yours,_

_Prof. M. McGonagall._

Harry stared at the letter, then tore open a second and a third. They were all the same. All dated from several days ago. McGonagall must have just sent out all the schools owls and hoped one could find him. Harry began to panic, a senseless fear gripping him.

"You must be very popular."

Catrin. She didn't know. Harry couldn't tell her the contents of the letters. She would worry. Harry would not fear the worst, as advised. He'd go to her. He'd find a way to fix her, as she was going to fix him. Fucking St Mungo's. What did they know? Harry jumped up.

"Hermione's...not well," said Harry. "We have to go to Hogwarts. Right now."

"Harry, what's wrong? What's the matter with my daughter?"

"Stand up please, take my hand," said Harry. "This is going to feel, well, a little strange."

Harry reached out, took Hermione's chocolate frog card in one hand, then her mother's arm in the other, then Disapparated them both away.

They emerged outside the gates to Hogwarts. Catrin looked very green and dizzy but gathered herself. Harry dragged her forwards. A few reporters moved to block their path, Harry whipped out his wand.

"One question, I fucking dare you," he spat dangerously. The reporters cowered away. Harry shoved through them and into the school grounds.

He pulled Catrin along in his wake, his mind a jumble of worried thoughts. What could have happened? What sort of accident would have befallen Hermione? She wasn't the sort to court trouble, she only got caught up in it because of him. She didn't play Quidditch, she wasn't likely to take reckless jaunts to the Forbidden Forest, and she was powerful enough to look after herself in the face of all the daily dangers Hogwarts students were prone to facing.

But something had happened to her. Something Pomfrey couldn't fix, something that required outside Healers to help. And even they couldn't, it would seem. Harry's mind couldn't hold that idea steady. Hermione couldn't be going. She wouldn't. He needed her. Their kids needed her. She was his future. He'd have to find a way.

They skidded into the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was there, McGonagall, too, and a witch that Harry didn't know. She must be a St Mungo's Healer. Harry let go of Catrin and moved quickly forward, but his path was blocked.

"Don't smother her, Potter," said McGonagall. "She's very delicate."

Catrin looked over and gasped. It was worse than Harry had let on and she wasn't sure whether to be angry with him or not. He'd tried to spare her worry, but maybe it would have been better to be prepared. She couldn't be angry - he'd done what he thought was right. And the shock would not have been diminished either way.

Hermione was laying on a cot, her face was swollen as if from an allergic reaction. She was breathing but there was a shimmer around her. Harry looked questioningly at it.

"Her condition is critical," said Pomfrey. "We had to induce a magical coma to protect her higher brain functions. She took a heavy blow to the back of the head. The swelling hasn't gone down because of the...other effects. We can't properly assess the damage."

"What other effects?" asked Harry.

"The magical effects," Pomfrey replied. "The curse used is stopping us being able to do much."

Harry looked furiously at McGonagall. "Curse? An accident, you said."

McGonagall looked firmly at him. "I didn't want to be too specific in my letters. The owls might not have ever found you. I didn't want to give away that Miss Granger had been attacked on the schools grounds, in case it fell into unscrupulous hands."

Catrin gasped again. Harry felt his anger begin to bubble away. Who would attack Hermione? And why? She was supposed to be safe here. They were all supposed to be safe. The Darkness had passed. Harry had seen to that, had killed for it. He stood looking at Hermione, prone and motionless. He felt a cold sliver kiss against his spine and spread across his skin. He could almost sense her barely clinging to life.

"What happened?" he asked gravely.

"She was hit by a particularly nasty little hex," said the medi-witch, stepping forward. "Powerful...with a distinct signature."

Harry turned to her. "Signature?"

The witch took a heavy breath. "All spells carry a signature of their caster and intent. It can be hard to decipher sometimes, but that's one of things St Mungo's trains us to do."

"And this spell had one of those?" asked Catrin. She was pale, deeply worried, but her medical mind was in overdrive. She needed to understand if she could.

The medi-witch nodded. "It was full of ancient magic. Not dark, just ancient. And...familial."

Harry scrunched his face into a grimace. "Pretend I know nothing of magic. Please explain in those terms."

"Very well. All the oldest wizarding families have lineages which can trace back thousands of years. Over time they all developed a type of magic specific to their own families. They aren't the kind of regular, universal spells you'd find in a textbook. They are ancient and often so powerful we may never see evidence from one generation to the next. They are...often used to protect certain family members."

She looked pointedly at Harry. He clicked with the understanding.

"My parents...they had this sort of power?"

"It would be the most likely explanation," said the medi-witch. "If it was as simple as one person dying to save everyone from the power of The Killing Curse, or any specific Dark Lord, somebody would have sacrificed themselves as a martyr a long time ago. It isn't that easy. This particular kind of magic is used to prolong the family line of the oldest families...of which the Potters were one."

"So, Voldemort couldn't kill me because my mum did something else...to keep the family alive?"

"Its one theory. Family magic is very potent."

"But how is that at work here?" asked Catrin. "My daughter wasn't a threat to anyone."

"No, but this is a distinctly different type of protection spell, though from the same genus" said the medi-witch. "Its...er, designed to protect the family from - how can I say this delicately - _corruption_."

Harry's mood darkened. He thought he might guess where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit.

"What does that mean?" asked Catrin. "Corruption - I don't understand."

"I do," said Harry angrily. "Its some sort of bloodline magic, isn't it?"

The medi-witch bowed her head. "Yes, I think so. This spell was designed to protect members of a Pureblood family. Specifically from attacks by non-magic people, mixed blood...or Muggleborns."

"Like Hermione."

Harry felt such anger in him that he thought he might explode, or blow something up. There was only one such family who would target her now, and he didn't think he could even bring himself to say their name.

"The signature," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Do you know it? Know the family it belongs to?"

The witch looked at him meaningfully. She nodded. Harry had his answer. An icy shaft of pure vitriol passed through him. He would deal with that family personally. They had called out the thunder and by Merlin would they have it.

But that was for later. Harry swapped glances with Catrin, who seemed to understand.

"So what's been done? What have you tried to do to help her?" asked Harry.

"Everything in the book," said the medi-witch. "But until we can access her mind her body simply wont respond to anything. Mind magic is very tricky..."

Harry swapped a knowing look with Pomfrey. They shared an unspoken communication. Harry swallowed hard. He'd hoped he'd never have to face these demons again.

"Do you think that could help?" asked Harry, directing at Pomfrey.

"It would be dangerous," said Pomfrey. "As a physician, I'd never advocate reopening old wounds. Plus there's no telling how it would effect you. You might not be able to control it."

"I can control it," said Harry, more confidently than he felt. "I'm strong enough for this."

"What are you two talking about?" asked McGonagall.

Harry looked at Pomfrey, sighed, and swallowed hard again. "When I...after the war, I mean...I sort of...went mad for a bit. I've never told anyone."

Catrin looked at him, pained but sympathetic. McGonagall was a little shocked, but there was understanding with it.

"I...I lost my mind," said Harry. "I would drift in and out of cogency. I might think I was in the past, or the future. Mostly it would be reliving old memories, all the horrors of my past. But sometimes they'd be nice memories, or like bits of things I'd imagined. Hermione was often in them, actually. And after each one I'd be normal for longer. We used her as a totem, as a tether to reality. Something to focus on when I lost it. It took a lot of meditation and practice. I learned to direct the memories in an 'episode' to real ones of her, it brought me back quicker. I even tried to relive our ride on a Hippogriff once. They, er, didn't take kindly to that."

Harry rolled up his sleeves to show the faded scratch marks on his arms.

"Anyway, I eventually learned to quieten my mind. It was a little like Occlumency. But I could feel everything coming from my scar. Its like a connection to all the energies around me. They influence me when the connection opens, which it still does from time to time."

"We developed a localised blocking Charm," Pomfrey explained. "Its a little like a Memory Charm. We stopped that part of Mister Potter's body from remembering how to work. Did you say it doesn't always hold, Harry?"

"I still have dreams sometimes," said Harry. "I don't know if they're real or not. But they aren't regular dreams, I know that much.

"This all sounds very dangerous," said the medi-witch. "Experimental magic should be avoided at all costs."

Harry gave her an old-fashioned look. "Its preferable to madness."

"How does any of this help Miss Granger?" asked McGonagall.

"I don't know," said Pomfrey. "But it may be possible..."

"I'll try anything," said Harry.

"I will not permit anything dangerous," said McGonagall. "Poppy?"

"We used Miss Granger as totem for Mister Potter," said Pomfrey. "We could possibly extend the connection, see if what we once perceived as an injury could actually be harnessed as a tool."

"How so?" asked Harry.

Pomfrey paced the bed, thinking hard. "If Miss Granger's mind has been attacked by Pureblood magic, maybe _your_ Pureblood magic can bring her back. Minerva, how would one create an offensive spell like this?"

"Well, if I was going to create such a hex I'd try and separate the magic from body and mind," said McGonagall. "Muggleborns in particular are vulnerable. They could be considered _new_ magic, without deep tethers that would help them resist it. Older families have deeper magical roots, harder to pull away."

"What does any of this mean?" asked Catrin. She looked a little overwhelmed.

"All living things have a magical core, more powerful in some than others," McGonagall explained. "In Muggles, its practically dormant. In wizards, as prominent as skin tone and hair colour. I don't want to get into wizard eugenics, but this leads to the Pureblood mania we've just seen the worst form of."

"Old magic will work almost as though it has a will of its own," Pomfrey continued. "Even without the wizard controlling it."

"Like my blowing up my aunt, or Neville Longbottom bouncing from a window," said Harry, nodding sagely.

"Precisely," said Pomfrey. "The magical core of wizard lineage is strong. But for a Muggleborn, its new and therefore more brittle."

"And more vulnerable to attack," added McGonagall. "Many Pureblood families had this sort of curse, I imagine. To stop wayward lovers from besmirching the family line."

"Attack the Muggleborn. Don't dilute the sodding pure blood," Harry spat angrily.

"Something like that," said Pomfrey.

"So, my bloodline...you were saying."

"Your family roots go deep, Mister Potter. Not only that, you come from powerful stock. It may be possible for you to use your family line to strengthen Miss Granger's, make you a totem for her."

"How?"

"It will involve a little imagination," said Pomfrey. "You have to create a memory, one that will convince Miss Granger that she is _part_ of your family. We will pull the memory from you, and implant it into her, like a human Pensieve."

"This sounds not only dangerous but extremely unlikely," said the medi-witch, doubtfully. "I've never heard of anything like this."

"Well, considering everything you have heard of has failed this is definitely worth a try," said Harry coolly.

"If I remember, you had some pretty vivid dreams during our, er, sessions," said Pomfrey. "If we could access them..."

"Do it," said Harry. "Let's do it now."

Harry would brook no opposition. He pulled another bed close by and threw himself onto it. He relaxed his mind, as he'd practiced all those weeks ago. Only this time, he was trying to undo those blocks he'd put in. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey.

"Please lift the Memory Charm."

Pomfrey nodded and touched her wand to Harry's scar. It burned dully a moment.

"How do you feel?"

It was difficult to answer. Sensations rushed at him, but it wasn't like before. He could feel energies, and echoes that may have been the thoughts of others. But he wasn't swarmed and overwhelmed by them as he remembered being last time. He had learned control.

"Its dizzying, but its okay," said Harry. "We'll put the block back on when this is done, though. What do I do now?"

"Imagine creating a memory, maybe one from the future," said Pomfrey. "Dig one up from your mind if you've ever had one. You have to make Miss Granger _feel_ like a Potter."

Harry felt a hand take his own. He looked up to see Catrin smile down at him. "I'm not sure how this works, Harry, but don't pretend. Show her what you want...what you told me. Make it real, as its going to be for you."

Harry smiled back at her. He knew what to do, what to think. He closed his eyes, focused only on Hermione's breathing. He picked her mind out of all the others he could sense. It was blank, still. Wherever she was in there, she was deep, deep down.

"I have her mind," said Harry quietly. "I'm ready. Make the connection."

He felt a wand touch to his temple. As it pulled away he felt it like someone tugging a long hair that wouldn't come out. It was an odd sensation. It touched to Hermione's skin and he felt a deep warmth rush along it.

He focused with all his strength...and pushed a vision to her.

* * *

Hermione was walking through the corridors of a house. It was alien but oddly familiar. She didn't feel like a stranger here, but she didn't know the place either. It had a warm, homely feel and she hoped whoever owned the place wasn't here. She quite fancied staying here a little while. She felt tired and this would be a nice place to rest a while.

But she wasn't alone.

She heard voices at the end of the corridor. There was light coming from under a door to the left. Hermione made her way towards it. There were several voices coming from inside. There was no point trying to sneak out, and in any case she felt oddly drawn to the room. She opened the door.

What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks.

She saw herself, sat on a comfy couch. She was good deal older, maybe into her Thirties or more. She was pleased to see she'd aged quite well. Her hair was still as wild as ever and longer than she was used to. It came nearly half way down her back. But she seemed a lot calmer, and happier, than Hermione herself was used to feeling. She felt a pang of envy. Her skin seemed to glow and she radiated life. Then Hermione saw why, and it made her gasp out loud.

For she was very, _very_ pregnant.

Hermione cupped her hand to her mouth, but her other self didn't seem to hear her. That jarred Hermione. What was going on? What was this? A dream? It didn't feel like one. The sounds and smells were too real. Had she gotten hold of a time-turner? Surely, her other self would have noticed her by now. Harry had once told her what it was like in a Pensieve. This was a bit like that.

Speaking of Harry...

"Green tea. Don't know how you can stand it, but there it is."

Harry had entered the room and given the other Hermione a pretty little china cup. He was older too, but Merlin he had just gotten better with age. Talk about liking older men. Hermione swooned at the very sight of him. He had an oversized mug in his own hand. Coffee. Three sugars. Two white, one brown. How did she know that? She'd never made Harry coffee before. Or had she? She remembered making it for him, maybe hundreds of times, but she couldn't pinpoint a single one. What the hell was going on? She was confused, a little scared, but profoundly fascinated.

Was she in the future? That would explain the age differences. But where was she? And what was going on? This had to be important. She looked around. She was in a living room. There was a television in one corner, a Wizarding Wireless in the other. It was an odd combination. A roaring fire was blazing away on one side of the room. It was insanely cosy. There were lots of pictures of two little girls on the hearth. One had dark, messy, ridiculously bushy hair, where the other's was ruler-straight and tawny. She knew them, she thought. She tried to remember from where, but Harry was talking again.

"So, its a no for Roman names, then?"

"I told you, no," said Future Hermione. "No-one called Albus, or Remus, or Severus, ever turned out to be balanced or entirely sane."

"True. Albus and Severus were two of the biggest arseholes we ever came across," Harry agreed. "What about David?"

"My dad's name? This is getting like a tick box exercise for parents names. Sophie already has my mum's as a middle name."

Sophie. That was the dark haired girl's name. Hermione was stirred by the thought. For some reason, she thought _my girl's name_ in her mind. Like it was her own daughter...

Then the girl herself came racing into the room. She looked furiously cross but so cute with it.

"Mummy! Mummy!" little Sophie cried. "Will you _tell_ Cesc! She's bewitching my dolls to hit me again. Look!"

Both Hermione's looked to the floor. Sure enough, three little dolls were crowded at Sophie's ankles, kicking her with little plastic feet.

"Will you _tell_ her! She's not supposed to do magic."

Poor little Sophie was begging her mother. Hermione felt the strongest urge to pick her up and cuddle her, soothe her. But her future self was talking.

"Harry, you haven't given her your wand again, have you?"

Harry looked at her in mock indignation. Then he looked at the little figures now trying to bite Sophie's toes.

"That's very fine charm work," said Harry appraisingly. "But its got Willow and Unicorn hair written all over it. What's your wand again?"

Both Hermione's scowled. And spoke at the same time. "Willow and unicorn hair."

Then the future Hermione spoke alone, or rather shouted. "Celesca Potter! Get in here right now!"

Hermione froze in her place. Potter...was this the future?...and did her children have the surname _Potter?_...but that would mean...

Her wild thoughts were interrupted by a second little girl entering the room. She walked up to the couch, her hands behind her back and a mischievous little grin on her face. She was a playful, cheeky child, and punishing her was so hard. Hermione knew this instinctively as her future self tried to do it.

"What's that behind your back?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Celesca...give Mummy back her wand."

"I haven't got it, Mummy, honest."

Her eyes sparkled playfully.

"Show me your hand," Hermione commanded. Celesca obeyed. It was empty. "Now the other one. Now both together."

Celesca knew she was done for. She looked to Harry for support.

"Give your Mum back her wand, Cesc," said Harry. "And stop tormenting your sister."

"You're no fun, Daddy," said Celesca, mutinously giving up the wand. "And you shouldn't _give_ it to me if I'm not allowed to play with it."

"Harry!" cried Hermione.

Harry smirked at Celesca as she stomped off crossly. "Traitor."

"I can't believe you, Harry," said future Hermione. She took her wand and undid the charms on the dolls. "You're incorrigible, you know."

"Well, if you didn't let the girls read your spell books to make my hair grow to my feet, or permanently wedge my glasses to my face or whatever, we wouldn't keep having this problem."

"There's one to wedge your glasses to your face?" said Sophie, her eyes lighting up. She ran off. "Cesc! Guess what we can do to Daddy later!"

Harry shook his head and sighed in resignation.

"You brought that one on yourself," said future Hermione. "You know I'll have to help them. So be a good dad and play along."

"I kind of hate you sometimes."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't," Harry agreed. "You know by 'hate' I meant 'love'."

"I would hope that you more than ' _kind of_ ' love me," said future Hermione, somewhat teasingly. "After all this time and two kids. Well, two and a half."

She patted her swollen belly.

"You know I love you," said Harry. He leaned over and kissed her so tenderly that Hermione, still watching from the side of the couch, almost felt it on her own lips. She dearly wished that she could. That her Harry would kiss her like that one day.

"I still like hearing it," said future Hermione as the kiss broke. "Anyway, back to business. David James Potter? Hmmm."

"Hmmm," Harry echoed. "Tick, tick, if nothing else. But honey, there's just one thing...what if its another girl?"

"Good point...I suppose we'll just have to keep trying. I am _definitely_ having a boy at some point. I want the set. It could be twins though. I'm very big this time."

"I kind of hope not," said Harry, a naughty glint in his eye. "I like the idea of more trying. Lots more."

"Oh, we will _totally_ be doing _that."_

Hermione had seen enough, if the display about to play out was enough to go by. She backed out of the room. Her heart was hammering harder than it ever had. She had to sit down and go through everything she'd seen. It was a little overwhelming, but so desired too. Was it possible that it could happen? That it _would_ happen? It seemed so real. And she knew parts of it, like she'd lived it herself. It was so weird.

But if that was the future, one she found unspeakably beautiful, how could she get to it? That was easily fifteen years away. It required some fundamental changes in her life. She and Harry would have to get married for a start. She paced in wild excitement as she thought about it. She wondered, if she concentrated really hard, if she could sort of _remember_ their wedding day. For, where she was, they must have had it already.

But she couldn't. Her mind, her heart and soul were having a sort of raucous party about the whole thing and she couldn't focus. She just smiled and laughed and wanted to join in. But it was her job to make that dream a reality. But how to manage it? It must mean she'd find Harry some how.

Find him...where was he?

Then she remembered what had happened. It was like a nightmare she'd had long ago, as if as a child. But she knew it was more recent than that. Much more. She was at Hogwarts...Harry had run away somewhere...but why? Oh...now she remembered. Bloody Ron. He'd scared him off. But that was at Hogwarts. Where was Hermione now...and how did she get here?

OH...YES.

_Ginny fucking Weasley_.

That sneaky little bitch! Creeping up from behind, cursing her. It was her only fucking chance. What a cunt! What was that she'd hit her with? Hermione had never seen that spell before. She didn't even see Ginny coming. She had raging eyes only for Ron. Oooh she would _so_ be putting that right. The shame of it! She'd put it all to rights. When she got out of here...wherever this was. It wasn't time to panic. She had to be logical.

But she wasn't feeling panicked. This was home, _her home_ , in a freaky sort of way. The answer would be here. Somewhere. This was her memory...or was it? Now she dwelt on it, she wasn't wholly sure. It had Harry's scent all over it. Was it his? No, that didn't seem right either. Was it _theirs_? Now, there was an idea. A joint memory, an experience shared. Her and Harry, their home, their children, their _family_. Was he trying to help her? But how?

"Hello, Hermione."

She span around. The Harry from her future had left the living room. He was looking vaguely in her direction.

"I know you're here, somewhere," said Harry. "I can't see you, but I remember this being the day you saw. I helped you see it. Right now, you're hurt, in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. You're dying. The bloody Weasleys did it. They've separated you from your magical core. But you're not alone. I'm right beside you. Our magic is intertwined. Time and life are not as linear as you might think. One day, you'll know more about this than anyone. Its you who explains it to me! You need to look inside, find that part of me that's taken root there. Give in to it. You'll know how. Your body is too broken to go straight back. But get close. I'm with you...I'm holding your hand right about now...your mum is holding my other one...go now, Hermione, don't give in...we'll see each other soon..."

Harry blew a kiss into the air. Hermione could have sworn she felt it on her cheek. She looked at her hand, imagined Harry's squeezing it. It gave her strength. It gave her courage. She closed her eyes. Then she was moving. She didn't know where.

But she would get back. No matter what.


	12. A Flame of Hope

It was getting light now. Dawn was fast approaching over the horizon. The Hospital Wing was lit by one, flickering candle, the wick of which was getting very low. It cast dull, insubstantial light onto the sleeping, injured girl and her exhausted mother, dozing fitfully on a chair near her bed. There was no other life in the static environment. The night air was still, observant, mindful of the presence of Death, stalking nearby.

Death made a quick exit as the door to the Hospital Wing was carefully opened. It feared the impassioned boy who entered, the same one who had held a near round-the-clock vigil at the girls' bedside for the past thirty-six hours. This boy had cheated Death several times, laughed in his face at least once and had claimed Earthly powers that made him at least Death's own equal. That was troubling enough. The girl in the bed was ripe to be claimed.

But the boy was saying 'no'. So Death had no choice but to listen. And to wait...

Harry entered the ward with an armful of books. He thought that might make Hermione better. If she could feel books nearby, maybe ones she hadn't read before, that might hurry her back from her mental exile. Harry didn't know of a better way to soothe her. He had chosen carefully. They were stacked full of information on specific family magic. But they were all so confusing. Hermione would understand them instantly, she could explain them, maybe even know how to utilise them.

Harry dearly wished she could find a way to show him how, for her time was running out.

She hadn't responded as much as they'd all hoped from the vision treatment. Whilst her condition had stabilised, it hadn't improved. She was still non-responsive. The St Mungo's Healer was adamant that the damage to both her magic and her body was simply too great. She had suggested lifting the spells holding her to life, that it would be the humane thing to do. Harry had almost cursed her for the notion. There had to be another way, there just had to be.

He absolutely would not let her die.

So he sat by her bedside, hour after hour, clinging to the faint, distant sensation that was Hermione's mind. Somehow, he'd managed to retain the link. It broke through the reinstated blocking spell cast by Madam Pomfrey. Or, at least, enough of it did. It wasn't as strong as when Harry's mental barriers were down, but he needed them in place. Their absence had caused him to pass out three times, overwhelmed by external signals, before he gave in and had the enchantment recast. But, for reasons none of them could explain, he could still connect to Hermione's mind.

But she was getting weaker.

She would slip into troughs. Harry felt it as a lurch in his stomach, as though the bottom were about to fall out. He learned quickly to focus hard on his connection to Hermione, and he was able to pull her back, as though catching her from falling with the barest tip of his fingers. He shuddered to think what would happen if he missed one of these surges. So he dared not leave her side. He slept only in patches, always close by, and always he dreamt the same thing.

He was at a lake, in a log cabin, looking out across smoky water. Reeds and marshes surrounded the shore and Harry felt a deep foreboding about what might be lurking within them. It was sinister, it was stalking, a predator waiting to pounce. But Harry couldn't see it, whatever it was. Though he knew it was there, drifting just beneath the surface of the water, which was as grey as chilled steel.

Harry wanted to go and find it, to fight it off, but he was busy at the jetty outside the cabin. He was constantly checking the moorings on the little pier, and the thin ropes tied to them. They had a habit of loosening, almost coming completely undone a few times. Harry could not let that happen. He had to keep them tied and tight, or else the rowing boat attached to them would simply drift away into the mist.

And Hermione, sitting quietly within the boat, would drift away with it.

She wouldn't come in, no matter what Harry tried to say to coax her. He wasn't sure she could even hear him, if he was honest. There was a low hiss around the place, like insect song, or something darker, reptilian even. It seemed to get louder when Harry tried to speak, matching his volume as he progressed to full on shouting. It was like a barrier to Hermione and, try as he might, he couldn't find a way to break through it.

Harry couldn't pull the boat in either. He had tried tugging on the ropes, even using his wand to summon it back, but nothing had worked. It wouldn't budge. The ropes might have been made of rigid, coiled wire for all the give Harry got from them. He had a feeling Hermione might have had paddles in the boat, but she was either unwilling, or unable, to use them. Harry was only comforted by the fact that she looked quite content, curiously peaceful, rocking gently on the rippling water.

Though he worried this might stop her from coming back to him.

This very concept shook him deeply. He didn't want to face up to it. He scarcely dared to breathe when he looked at Hermione's motionless form. The possibility she might never move again was so terrifyingly real. As much as Harry told himself he could help her, as much as he demanded it of himself to find the answer, a timid part of his mind lolled in the background, a constant reminder that he had little practical idea on how to achieve this most fundamental of goals.

So he threw himself into research, sourcing material for anything that might have been overlooked. But the textbooks seemed to side with the St Mungo's Healer. Specific family magic, such as that used by Ginny (for Harry had learned from Luna, the only witness, that it was Ginny who had cast the curse), was designed as a last resort, even as a sort of deterrent to errant forces. Defying conventional treatments was simply part of the spell construction. And this particular curse was so violent that it was looking increasingly likely that there wasn't a cure. If Hermione did ever regain consciousness, she might not be the same.

The possibilities of debilitating long-term effects seemed endless. Harry found examples of loss of limb use or complete paralysis, of total magic loss or sweeping brain damage. This last one seemed as cruel as any. Hermione, so reliant on her keen, sharp mind, suddenly separated from it. She would hate that. She might choose death over it. Harry had to consider that possibility. Was it right for him to arbitrarily drag her back to a life she'd rather not return to?

He decided it was. After all, she'd done it to him, albeit in a less extreme way.

A few weeks ago he might have blamed himself for what had happened. He'd become so self-deprecating he was blaming himself for everything negative in the world. Famine, global warming, reality TV...they were all his fault in increasingly bizarre and mental ways. He could almost laugh at himself, thinking about it now. Maybe he would later, when laughter was allowed back into his world. For now it was held at bay. Laughter wasn't permitted as long as Hermione was in such a perilous state. But Harry didn't blame himself for it. His heart only had enough room to blame one person, or perhaps one family.

The Weasleys. How Harry's opinion of them had turned. Once his surrogate family, he now saw them as antagonists, borderline enemies in his life. He accepted his view was completely shaped by the actions of Ron and Ginny, but they hadn't developed the curse which had put Hermione into her current state. The whole clan were culpable in Harry's eyes. And if Hermione didn't recover...

He couldn't think about that. He wouldn't. Somehow, she was going to come back. And when she did, they'd start this wonderful life together that he'd seen so vividly. His mind drifted to the vision he'd sent her. He smiled as he thought about it. He and Hermione, their two daughters, both so playful and precocious. He felt as though he knew them already. He couldn't wait to meet them for real.

But that was for the future, for Harry was determined there would be one. He pored over his books in the present, looking at all kinds of alternative treatments and cure-alls. But nothing seemed to cover Hermione's ailment. If she _had_ been separated from her magical core, the medical treaties didn't seem to describe any instances of how this might be repaired. They covered curing diseases and repairing bones, even regrowing limbs. But the magical core was such a delicate and fragile thing that it was akin to trying to reattach the spinal cord to the brain. It just didn't seem possible or, at least, had never been done before.

Harry had even considered taking a crash course in alchemy, after stumbling on a particularly interesting tome. He had been briefly enthused by the potential of the Elixir of Life, remembering how much Voldemort had once coveted the transmuting substance. But, again, the literature focused mainly on how it cured illness and delayed old age. It might work, but Harry was disheartened by the fact that only Nicolas Flamel ever successfully created the Philosophers Stone, and it had taken him decades to do it. Harry didn't have that kind of time, and he doubted he had that kind of skill, either. The practice did promise great powers along the way though, so Harry filed that away for something to explore in more detail later.

Hermione's breathing hitched in the bed next to Harry's seat. He closed his book quickly and scooted over to her side. His own breath had caught somewhere in his lungs. It refused to budge until it saw Hermione's chest fall with the exhale. It seemed to take an age. By the time it did, Harry's throat had constricted painfully, and he let out a long, rattling breath. His heart was pounding beneath his rib cage. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Spikes of fear at any small change in Hermione's condition, then desperation as Harry waited for the next one. He needed answers, and soon.

Hermione's snatched breathing returned to normal. Harry watched the rise and fall of her chest until he was satisfied she was stable again. He only then noticed he'd grabbed her hand. It was a reflex, involuntary. He couldn't remember doing it, but he decided he'd not let it go when he sat back down. If Hermione didn't like it, she could just wake up and tell him.

Harry waited a moment, conflicted by the situation. He wanted her, needed her, to wake up, but at the same time if disgust at his touch proved the catalyst for it then it would dash all his hopes of getting closer to her. She didn't respond, though, and Harry was pacified. Maybe she preferred to stay asleep, secretly enjoying holding hands without having to face up the potentially embarrassing discussion that would lead to it becoming normal.

Harry stilled himself at the idea, enjoying the feeling of Hermione's skin against his own, looking forward to the time when they could enjoy it together. She was still warm, her pulse still throbbed at her wrist. She wasn't giving up just yet. Harry had an innate assuredness of that, as though Hermione were somehow trying to reinforce his faith. The warmth of her body was all he needed for now, for ever actually. The answers had to be here somewhere.

Just then, the door to the Hospital Wing opened. Harry frowned. It was inconsiderate to make so much noise with sick girls around. But, of course, Hermione was unmoved. Her mother stirred in her stead, waking groggily and looking around the gloomy ward, trying to get her bearings. Harry looked over at the door to see Headmistress McGonagall enter and stride purposefully to them. She wore a look of deep concern as she peered down at Hermione, still resolutely still.

"Has there been any improvement?" she asked gently. Harry shook his head. McGonagall's expression became strained, perhaps mirroring Harry's own.

"Mister Potter...I have taken it upon myself to seek out assistance for Miss Granger. I appreciate that you feel compelled to remain at her bedside, but we are exploring every avenue to help her. In that goal, I have summoned Arthur and Molly Weasley to the school. They may have insights to this curse that we haven't considered."

Harry felt his jaw clench at the very mention of the name Weasley. He wanted nothing to do with them, and they had no right to be near Hermione after the damage inflicted by their prodigal daughter. But Harry checked his own anger. Catrin Granger was sat opposite him, on high alert now for the same reasons. Her own experiences of the Weasleys, Harry suddenly remembered, hadn't been the most positive either. He would have an ally in her. And McGonagall was right, they might know something that could help. Harry owed it to Hermione to try everything.

"They have just arrived and are waiting outside," McGonagall went on. "Shall I bring them in?"

"They've seen the news reports I suppose? They know this is Ginny's doing?"

"News reports?" asked McGonagall. "There haven't been any news reports."

"But this attack happened in the grounds," frowned Harry in his confusion. "There are still a few journalists camped outside. They must have seen it. I just assumed Molly and Arthur were avoiding coming here."

"Part of the new protections on the school prevent anyone from outside seeing in," explained McGonagall. "If you are outside the gates all you see are the ruins of the castle and warning signs that it isn't safe. The reporters wouldn't have seen a thing. I explained to Molly and Arthur what happened and they are keen to try and help. So, shall I fetch them?"

Harry nodded but didn't trust himself to speak. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd feel facing the Weasley's, but there was a healthy amount of rage simmering away. Harry hoped he could keep it under control.

McGonagall moved away, returning a few minutes later with Arthur and Molly in tow. Harry rose to meet them, locking gazes with each one in turn. The change between them was obvious. A frosty greeting replaced the usual jovial handshakes and crushing bear hugs. Molly made half a step towards Harry, but it was half a step towards Hermione, too, and Harry bristled and shifted protectively in her direction. It was enough to make Molly hold herself. Arthur looked thin and ragged, stress tousled and perhaps in need of a few nights' sleep.

Harry wasn't pacified by their appearance. They should be abashed, he'd be livid if they weren't.

A thick, uncomfortable silence rose in the air and hung there for a good few minutes. Neither party knew quite what to say. A great many things had passed between them in the last few months. It made this meeting heavy with emotion. All the events raced through Harry's mind at once. The War, Fred's death, he and Ginny's break-up, Ron and Hermione's relationship, his disappearance, right up to these most recent events. It made the silence loaded and fraught.

It was Arthur who took the bold step to break it. He spoke tentatively, cautiously, mindful of Harry's outward hostility, which he had little power to contain.

"How is she?"

Harry scowled. "She's dying, Arthur. How do you think she is?"

"Mister Potter," said McGonagall sharply, slightly shocked at Harry's harshness, but Arthur held up his hand to quieten her.

"Harry has every right to be angry, Minerva."

"You're damn right I do," said Harry fiercely. "No matter what has happened, no matter what's gone on, _this_ is not the answer. Its unacceptable, unpardonable, so over the top a reaction I can't even begin to describe it! And your daughter is responsible for it! So yeah, I'm pretty bloody angry."

"No, Harry, you are right," said Arthur. He sounded weary. Harry resented him for it.

"Don't you think we agree with you?"

Harry opened his mouth, preparing another tirade, but Arthur's words threw him. Molly, taking cue from her husband, stepped forward.

"I'm going to kill Ginny myself, whenever I get my hands on her," she said. "Harry we are so sorry, ashamed, appalled at Ginny's behaviour. We raised her better than this."

Molly cast a cautious glance at Catrin, who had been staring daggers at her since she'd entered the ward. Even Harry was startled by the force of Catrin's glare. Her nostrils flared like Hermione's when she was angry. It was as if she were radiating a field of energy that even the practitioners of magic in the room should be wary of.

Harry turned back to Molly. "So where is Ginny, if you haven't seen her?"

"We genuinely don't know, Harry."

"You expect me to believe that?" Harry shot back. "Ginny always was clinging to your apron strings. And not knowing where your only daughter is? Try another one. Has that clock in your kitchen suddenly stopped working?"

Harry glowered from Molly to Arthur then back again. They were shocked by the level of his ire, unsure how to act in the face of it.

"She's not come home, Harry," said Arthur, risking Harry's wrath. "She knows she's gone too far."

Harry stared at him, battling his own disbelief. " _Gone too far...GONE TOO FAR!_ Are you serious, Arthur! Ginny tried to _kill_ Hermione! She's barely hanging on. And your description is that she's _gone too far?_ "

Arthur took a step back. He mumbled a reply but it was largely incoherent and drowned out by the angry torrent now flowing freely from Harry's mouth.

"Nothing that has gone on in all this craziness justifies _this_! Hermione has done _nothing_ wrong, not a thing. She is the innocent party in all this. If you haven't heard, Ron cheated on _her_ \- made it a public scandal while he was at it. Then Ginny just out and attacks her! And the curse she used, one specific to your family, I bet I've seen it before. Its the one you used to kill Bellatrix Lestrange, isn't it Molly?"

"Mister Potter!" cried McGonagall. "That's a hell of a claim to make."

"Then deny it!" yelled Harry, still glaring at Molly. "I've seen Avada Kedavra enough times and it wasn't that. What else could do this kind of damage? Bellatrix was threatening Ginny, Molly used a curse she couldn't block and she died. Don't insult me by telling me that's a coincidence."

"It...it might be the same spell," said Molly. Her voice was tinier than Harry had ever heard it. The lingering care he had for her made him shift uncomfortably at the sound, but only a little. His heart was busting at the edges with concern for Hermione, and anger at those who had put her where she was. He had no room for anything else.

"If it is that curse, how the devil would she have found it out?" asked Arthur.

"It's obvious!" cried Harry. "Molly told her about it to get Hermione out of the way, out of _my_ way. Ginny said she'd been trying to get a clear run at me."

"That's a ridiculous notion, Mister Potter," said McGonagall.

"And completely untrue, Harry," said Arthur. "Neither Molly nor I would be so reckless or callous. I hope we've known each other well enough and long enough for you to see that."

Harry was sensible of that despite his rage. He moved away to the window and let out a loud, guttural roar. His frustration was boiling over. He tried to stomp it down from its position just under his red hot skin. He turned back to the others.

"Fine. I can believe that. But I also believe that's what Ginny learned the spell for. To keep other girls away from me. Where could she have learned it from?"

"I did tell her it was a curse created by our ancestors," said Molly. "But I promise you, Harry, I didn't teach it to her. She asked what it was after she saw me use it on that bitch Lestrange. I suppose I got carried away in the story. My girl was proud of me. I didn't think she'd go off and try to learn the spell."

"But she did, that's all that matters," said Harry. "And she used it on Hermione. So - can it be undone?"

Molly and Arthur swapped grave looks. They didn't need to answer. Harry's gut clenched as yet more anger stirred and swelled within him. His jaw was starting to ache from his fierce, continual glower. He ground his teeth to try and diffuse his urge to lash out.

"Try to understand, Harry, these are offensive spells, to be used only in last ditch circumstances," said Arthur quietly. "They are never intended to be used so wantonly. I fancy Ginny didn't fully realise what she was doing."

"Oh, I think she did," said Harry acridly. "She blames Hermione for her and I not getting back together. She thinks no girl will ever get as close to me as Hermione is. But you need to understand - Ginny isn't what I want, or what I need. She may think she loves me, but she's wrong. She loves an idea of me, a vision of me created by legend and embellished in the books and articles written about me. A version of me that has _never_ existed. The real me is totally different, and a hell of a lot darker than she can possibly know. I didn't want to inflict that on her. I was doing her a kindness by ending it for good. We wouldn't have been happy together.

"And then there's the situation with Ron. He's acting totally as I would expect him to. I've seen it for years. He _hates_ my fame, resents the things that happen to me to boost my reputation. Though he'll happily trade on it when it suits him. But I've never asked for _any_ of it. I didn't ask to survive Voldemort's attacks, or to find the Chamber of Secrets, or to win the Triwizard or to be bloody destined to defeat the greatest Dark Sorcerer ever. But crap like that just keeps happening to me. Its not my fault that Ron was content to live in my shadow, not valuing himself enough to step out of it.

"And the worst part is, its kind of your fault."

"How can you say that?" asked Arthur.

"I say it because despite all that Ron was jealous of me having, he had the one thing I truly wanted," said Harry. "And I would have traded all my wealth and skill and fame to have just a piece of it. He had the love of his family, your love. Something I'd never known and always wished for. He was spoilt by it. It allowed him to be mopey and never accept culpability for his actions because it was just another case of him being 'Poor Old Ron'. It gave him the excuse to feel downtrodden and sorry for himself because he had you to support him, even if it meant teasing him about things.

"So he bleated on to the twins about how he wanted to make sure Hermione went for him and not me. And they gave him a book on how to get girls. So he put on an act, tricked and hoodwinked Hermione into thinking he was someone he wasn't. And when he got her, he dropped the act, and the real him re-appeared. Then, when I disappeared, he got the wider attention he'd always craved. Trading on _my fame..._ again!

"It's not my fault or Hermione's fault that he was weak, that he gave into temptation as soon as it presented itself. I know what it's like. Merlin, the girls I've had flinging themselves at me just because of my name. But he should have done the honourable thing and ended his relationship. Not dragged Hermione's name through the papers, humiliated her. All he did was prove what I already knew - that he was never good enough for Hermione."

Harry finally drew breath, trying to order his thoughts and making sure he'd covered every point he hoped to make. He glanced at Catrin, who was smiling warmly at him.

"But you were such good friends," said Molly. She seemed unable to comprehend the shattering of the friendship she'd witnessed for so many years.

"We were good friends," said Harry. "But as we got older, we grew further apart. It happens. And his jealousy drove a wedge between us. It eventually put Hermione in the middle. He abandoned us in the middle of hunting Horcruxes after one of his tantrums, tried to get Hermione to abandon me, too. _That's_ the real Ron. Self-centred, jealous and with total disregard for the feelings of others. I see nothing of the boy I knew in the man he became. And his sister is just as bad. Caring only about herself, to the point of trying to kill an innocent girl."

"My daughter is not a murderer!" cried Molly, hotly, unable to contain herself.

Harry looked at her coldly. "Neither was I. But I still fought Voldemort intending to become one. I never wanted to be, but a prophecy said I had to kill another human being. None of you seem to truly get that. You _chose_ to kill Bellatrix, to protect your daughter. Not subdue and capture, but kill. I never had a choice, and I've never liked that. But I still did it, even though its screwed me up royally. I don't know why I cast a defensive spell in that final fight, it just seemed the right thing to to. But I loaded it with malice, my _intent_ was to kill. It turned Voldemort's Killing Curse back on him, as if I'd ordered it to. It was no accident he died, just as its no accident that Hermione has been as badly wounded as she is. Ginny _totally_ meant this."

Molly went to argue again but Arthur touched her arm and shook his head slightly. He knew Harry was right, it was plastered across his eyes. Harry looked at him. He'd never seen Arthur looking as weary. He was doing a passable impression of Remus Lupin at a full moon.

"You may be right, Harry," he said after a few reflective minutes. "But I, we, must still hold out hope that Ginny never intended to kill Hermione. She may not have known she had the power to inflict this. We are her parents, we have to give her the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise."

"That may be so," said Harry. "But you realise, if Hermione dies, that's murder. Manslaughter at the very least. Ginny will have to be punished. Even if Hermione recovers - and I tell you I'm going to find a way if one exists - this is an assault. It's not firing harmless sparks in a school-yard tiff."

"I understand that, Harry," said Arthur. "And we are not above the law, if that course is pursued."

"That isn't for me to decide," said Harry. "Hermione will choose what to do - when she wakes up. So...how do we heal her?"

"I - I don't know if there is any way we can," said Molly. "I was training as a Healer when I met Arthur. I studied family magic. I wrote a course thesis on it, and used my findings to create the clock in my kitchen. Offensive spells like this...they aren't meant to be undone. There isn't a way to repair damage to a witch or wizards magical essence...and they can't live without it. Its like losing part of your spirit - the body just cant cope with the loss."

Harry turned away and thumped the windowsill. He'd known the answer but to have it spelled out so plainly cut through to his own frantic spirit.

"It...it might be a kindness to just...let her go."

Harry spun around, stoked to fighting form again.

"Don't you even dare suggest it," he said, his voice a dangerous low growl. "I won't let her go until I feel she wants to. And she doesn't. She's in there, fighting hard. And I will find a way to bring her back."

Harry's mood was so forceful no-one dared to point out the glaring flaw in his assertions. They all just stood there a moment, shifting awkwardly in the heavy silence.

"Then can we at least stay, find a way to help if we can?" asked Arthur presently.

"I'd rather you didn't."

Harry looked up, a little startled. Catrin had spoken and her voice had taken on a cold hardness he'd never heard there before.

"Your family has done enough to my daughter, put her through enough. If I had my way she'd have nothing to do with any of you ever again. I can't make her do that, though. But what I can do is make decisions in her place now. And I decide that I don't want you around her. If Harry says he will find a way to heal my girl, I believe him. I don't think your negativity will help anything. So, as soon as Harry is done with you, I'd like you to leave."

The dismissal was final. Harry wouldn't have dared argued with Catrin such was the vitriol in her tone. He simply shook his head at the Weasleys and turned to look out of the window across the Hogwarts grounds. He waited a few moments for footsteps to cross the Hospital Wing and the door to click shut before he turned back around. Only Catrin remained in the room, smoothing Hermione's hair and cooing to her.

Harry crossed to the bed. He had to speak, to address the problem. Catrin, though, seemed to read his thoughts or his anxiety. Hermione had a similar skill. Now Harry knew where she got it from.

"You don't have to say it, Harry, I know you haven't got a clue how to heal Hermione," she said, smiling gently.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Granger, I really wish I did," said Harry. "I'd give anything for the solution."

"I've been in the medical profession a long time, I know the prognosis," said Catrin. "But we are in a world of magic and I trust your determination. If Hermione can be healed anywhere its here, right?"

"But her magic itself has been damaged," said Harry. "And the books don't seem to really cover such things."

"Well, if you've done all the books say with no success, its time to throw the books away," said Catrin. "Do you truly believe Hermione can come back?"

Harry thought on his visions of the future, of _their_ future. He clung to them for hope. He sighed. "Yes...yes I do."

"Then there will be a way," said Catrin. "If traditional methods have failed then you have to try something new, even if its unorthodox or out there. There must be alternative or experimental things you can try. I know little of magic so I can't help, but if you are so confident Hermione can be saved, I know you'll find a way."

Harry looked down at Hermione, still sleeping soundly. "She'd think of something. She'd know what to do."

"So where would she start?"

"The library," said Harry, smiling. "That's where she'd go first." Harry stood up. "So that's where I'll go. I wont rest until I find something."

Catrin looked on the verge of protesting his proclamation but he swept away from her. He walked quickly to the library, ignored Madam Pince as he entered and began grabbing books on healing, herbs, potions - anything that might give him inspiration. Cover all the bases, just like Hermione would. Harry was trying to channel her spirit, deciding that was the best way to help her. He hadn't been studying long when a shadow crossed the page in front of him. He looked up.

"Oh, hi, Luna."

Luna Lovegood looked down at him. Lines of worry crossed her eyes. Harry wasn't used to seeing them there. They looked alien, intrusive. They didn't belong.

"How is she?"

"Not good, not good at all," said Harry. "Wont you sit down?"

Luna pulled up a chair.

"Hermione's magic itself has been damaged but no-one knows how to fix it," said Harry. "I'm hoping to get some sort of idea. I want to be able to help, Luna, but I just don't know if I can. I feel so useless."

"If a wizard is convinced he'll die tomorrow, he'll probably find a way to make it happen," said Luna thoughtfully. "You have to believe you'll find the answer, Harry. Its the only way. But you don't sound like you do."

Harry sighed and closed his book. "To be honest - I'm not sure I do. If trained Healers can't help what can I do?"

"You can think differently," said Luna. "People think they know all the answers if they've seen it before. But new problems need new solutions. And if Hermione's problem isn't normal, you wont heal her with a normal remedy, will you?"

Luna was talking like this whole thing was maddeningly simple.

"Luna, you know I love you, but can you stop being so vague for once and just tell me what I'm missing here?"

Luna blushed slightly. "If Hermione had broken her arm, you could fix it with Skele-Gro. There are potions for pimples and salves for spots. That's all simple. But you couldn't give her a potion for a broken heart, or a bowl full of herbs to cure grief. She needs to be _healed_. Its more fundamental. If it were me, I'd probably use a phoenix."

Harry was intrigued, stirred for the first time. Luna's steadfast certainty was giving him hope.

"A phoenix?" he asked. "How would that help?"

"They have healing properties, don't they?" said Luna. "Their tears and their song. I would have thought you'd know that, being as its another symbol for Gryffindor. Godric himself was supposed to have had one."

"I did know that!" cried Harry, remembering suddenly. "Well, not about the Gryffindor bit. But a phoenix Healed me in the Chamber of Secrets in my Second Year. It was Fawkes."

"That was Dumbledore's, wasn't it?" asked Luna. "That's why he stayed so strong, even when he got older."

Harry, in his hope, forgot his usual questioning of Luna's assertions. "How do you know that?"

"Phoenixes have a tie to their owners, they choose each other and bond in a symbiosis," said Luna. "When the phoenix died and was reborn, it renewed and strengthened Dumbledore, too. That's why a phoenix could help Hermione. If you could create a bond between her and a phoenix, it would renew her magic when it was reborn."

Harry stared, slightly agape, at Luna. Could that actually work, or was it another of Luna's mad whims? But Harry was checked from his surge of hope by a sudden thought.

"Luna - if Hermione was tied to a phoenix, wouldn't _she_ have to die to be reborn?"

"Her current state of magic would have to die, to be replaced by a phoenix-infused replacement," said Luna. "But it would likely come back stronger with the added phoenix power. But if you do nothing, Harry, Hermione is dead already."

They sat in silence a moment, letting the full, enormous horror of that outcome settle on them. Harry hated every second of it.

"The problem would be finding a phoenix, they are really rare," said Luna. "And you can't force a connection. Does she have one in her family?"

"Hermione is Muggleborn," said Harry. "I don't think she has any magical ancestry. In any case, I don't have time to research that."

"Oh, well, it probably isn't the best idea then," said Luna. "If she hasn't got any sort of phoenix connected to her life, then it might be too difficult to use one."

Harry was suddenly struck with a thought. It was if Hermione was poking him in the ribs. In fact, it was something else doing the poking.

"Luna...how vague would a connection to a phoenix need to be?"

Luna sat pensively for a few moments. "Hmm. I suppose if she knew someone close, who could summon a phoenix from their own connection to one, that might be enough. If that person was willing to pass the connection on, of course."

Harry jumped up, primed to action. "Luna - you're a genius. I have to go."

He kissed the top of her head and ran off, back towards the Hospital Wing. He skidded inside and raced around Hermione's bed towards Madam Pomfrey's office at the back. She looked up, rattled by his urgent appearance.

"Can you call Headmistress McGonagall here please, Hagrid, too? I need them, right now."

"McGonagall? Hag - what's going on?"

"Can you just do it, now? Please?"

Pomfrey looked suspicious but got up and set to work. Harry left the office and hurried back down to Hermione's bedside. Catrin looked up at him, confused. Harry grinned back.

"I think I have an idea," he said. "Its...experimental. But it might just work."

"What is it?"

"I'm waiting on some people to get here," said Harry. "I'll tell everyone together."

It took a few minutes for everyone to assemble. McGonagall looked curious but flustered; Hagrid, as always, looked too big to be allowed and Catrin was visibly shocked by him. Pomfrey hung back, an interested observer to Harry's conference.

"What's this about, Mister Potter?" asked McGonagall. "Poppy said you looked fit to burst."

"I think I know a way to help Hermione, but I don't know where to start to do it," said Harry. "I need all of your expertise."

All in attendance were taut now, forcibly alert.

"Go on, Harry," said Hagrid. "What's yer plan?"

"Professors I was thinking, could we use a phoenix to help Hermione? Use their healing properties to repair her magic?"

McGonagall looked deeply surprised at the question. She considered Harry with deep respect. He felt naked under her gaze.

"That's certainly a different way to approach the problem," said McGonagall. "It is a leap worthy of Miss Granger herself."

Harry grinned. He could think of no higher praise.

"How do you propose we do it?"

"Is there a spell or a ritual to bind a witch to a phoenix?" asked Harry. "I'm sure there must be. Like how house-elves are bound into the service of a family. We could use it to bind a phoenix to Hermione."

"How would that help?" asked Catrin, desperate not to get left behind in the conversation.

"I suppose, Potter, you are thinking that the energy release in a phoenix birth would renew and infuse Miss Granger too, if they were bound together?"

"Isn't that what happens usually?"

"Yeh! Yeh it is, Harry," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "Phoenixes are incredibly special. They don' give their power out easily, mind. They gotta trust the wizard before they do. Takes years."

"If we could even find one," said McGonagall. "And the witch or wizard is an integral part of the bonding process. With Miss Granger in her current state I don't know how we'd do it."

"Harry - tell us how," said Catrin, encouragingly. He smiled at her.

"We'd use my connection to Hermione, and my phoenix," said Harry simply.

" _Your_ phoenix, Harry?" asked Hagrid, puzzled. "You ain't got a phoenix, have ya?"

"Not an _actual_ one," said Harry. "But I have a connection to one."

He reached inside his cloak, then held out his wand.

McGonagall nodded sagely as comprehension dawned. "Your core. Phoenix feather."

" _Fawkes'_ phoenix feather," Harry corrected. "And he's connected to me. He came to my aid when I needed him. And I need him now. He already has a connection to Hermione, too. She has never had any issue using my wand, even though wandlore would say she should. Her results have always been as powerful as with her own. My wand shows allegiance to her as well as me. We could use the feather, confer my link to Fawkes to Hermione in the birth of an offspring and it might just heal her enough so we can do the rest. Can it be done?"

Pomfrey and McGonagall thought hard. After a few minutes they shrugged their shoulders at each other. A quiet clear _why not_ passed between them.

"It's highly experimental -" said McGonagall

"Not to mention risky -" added the Matron.

"But, in theory, it could be done."

"Then what are we waiting for?" said Harry. "What do we need?"

"I will have to locate the correct ritual instructions," said McGonagall. "Dumbledore kept extensive notes. I will start there."

"Summoning a phoenix is like tempting a cautious animal," added Hagrid. "It needs to be coaxed by what it knows. Fire and ash. And food. I'll start collectin' stuff."

"Thanks, Hagrid," said Harry, beaming.

"There is, of course, one last thing to consider," said McGonagall, suddenly serious. Harry felt his bubble of hope start to drain. This didn't promise to be good.

"What is it?"

"By using your wand to invoke a phoenix, the wand will be destroyed in the process. The life contained in the feather will create the bird, the wood the first thing it burns. You may never be able to use magic again."

A silence fell over the ward. The enormity and gravity of the declaration washed over Harry. He hadn't thought of this. He looked down again at Hermione, and he smiled. There was no discussion, really. He looked up at McGonagall, and nodded gently. Catrin gasped.

"Harry - are you sure? You'd be giving up magic forever? There may be another way, something we've not thought -"

Harry raised his hand to silence her. "This is the best way, maybe the only way. And there is no sacrifice too big for me to make, not for her. Its Hermione's life we are talking about - I do this gladly."

Catrin couldn't help herself at that. She leapt up and hugged Harry, to hell with propriety.

"It may not be a total loss," said Madam Pomfrey.

"It might not?" asked Harry hopefully, disengaging himself from Catrin.

"If we are using your wand, your magical connection, to create a phoenix bound to Miss Granger," said Pomfrey, "then the two of you would be fundamentally linked as well. Theoretically, you should be able to use her wand. Not ideal, but in principle possible...come to think of it, its not too dissimilar to a soul bond. Er, Minerva - is it right that we proceed on this without Miss Granger's consent?"

"Ah, yes...I'd not considered that," said McGonagall, frowning.

"Okay, I'm confused," said Harry. "What's the problem?"

McGonagall and Pomfrey exchanged knowing looks.

"This process will essentially use your magic to repair Miss Granger's," McGonagall began. "We are, in effect, fusing them together. The phoenix magic invoked will provide the permanent bond."

"Following," said Harry, nodding. "So, where's the issue?"

"The type of bond we will have to use is very...personal."

The three women in the room suddenly united in thought. Even Catrin understood. She nodded and smiled as she did. Harry was still lost.

"I still don't get it."

"A soul bond, you say?" asked Catrin, an oddly shrewd look creeping across her face. McGonagall nodded. "Call me a foolish old Muggle, but it sounds a lot like a, well...a _marriage_ to me."

And at that point Harry forgot how to breathe.

"That's precisely it," said Pomfrey.

Harry felt like he'd been hit by _Petrificus Totalus_. He was stood stock still, trying grasp hold of the wild notions flying around his brain and hoping his heart would soon restart again. It seemed afraid to beat.

"If we do this, Harry and Hermione will be intrinsically linked on an incredibly deep level," said McGonagall. "It seems a little presumptive to assume Miss Granger would consent to such a union."

Harry was jerked back by that. He wasn't sure what McGonagall was getting at, but he definitely felt a little insulted at the suggestion that Hermione would refuse the offer.

"My daughter is in no state to make decisions," said Catrin. "So, as her next of kin, it falls to me to make them for her and accept the consequences. And I wholeheartedly agree. We can call it a sort of, _arranged_ soul bond, if you like."

McGonagall almost grinned at that. Harry could see her fighting a smirk.

"I suppose it just falls to you then, Harry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed he was grinning madly too. "Will you take Hermione, enter into a soul bond with her? Remember Harry - a soul bond is for life."

Harry looked at Hermione again. His heart was crashing around his chest like an out of control spinning top. When he looked up again his face felt on fire, but his grin covered his entire face.

"I do."

"That's settled then," said McGonagall. "I will make the arrangements for the ritual. Hagrid, come to my office when you have gathered all the things you need. Mister Potter, I suggest you get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

And with a wink, she turned and left Harry to deal with his out-of-control explosion of thoughts.


	13. A New Dawn

Harry sat pensively in the Headmistress' office. It lacked the warmth and curiosity which permeated the place when Dumbledore was resident. It was more formal, ordered. Even the portraits were well behaved. None of the whispering and dissent often tolerated by Dumbledore would be permitted here these days. One stern look from McGonagall was enough to quieten even the most persistent former Headteacher. Even Dumbledore himself, whose picture was the largest of them all, sat in quiet observation of the events unfolding in the room below.

For this was new magic and everyone was keen to see it work.

Harry was twirling his wand like a baton, examining every inch. He considered now how he had come to see it as an extra limb. Part of him, an extension of his very being. He recalled that initial burst of warmth he felt when he first took hold of the smooth holly, the phoenix-feather core igniting the magic in his fingertips. That was when it all began. That perfect resonance of his internal power and the implement with which he would harness and wield it. A magical tool which had chosen _him_.

And now he was about to destroy it, bring an end to it all.

Harry remembered the whirl of panic he felt all those months ago, when it was accidentally broken during the escape from Godric's Hollow. He had been furious with Hermione a moment, he couldn't help it. She was too good and powerful to have allowed that to happen, to leave him so castrated and vulnerable. But when his anger, his Voldemort-fuelled rage subsided, he forgave her in a second. She had saved his life, again, and his damaged wand was a small price to pay.

To return the favour now seemed somehow fitting. And the price was still insignificant, if it meant bringing Hermione back.

But there was still a sense of remorse. That was natural. Harry knew he was about to curtail a large part of his nature. It was life changing. Things wouldn't be the same after this, and not just in terms of Harry's neutered magical ability. He wasn't insensible of the grand gesture he was making. He hoped that, when she finally woke up, Hermione would realise it too. If that didn't make his intentions clear, where she was concerned, he wasn't sure what would.

He wasn't losing his magic entirely, of course. It was an integral part of him, not something that could simply be turned on and off like a tap. Where it came from, Harry hardly knew. Some said it was in the blood, others a higher brain function that Muggles were unable to access. Another school of thought suggested it came from the very spirit of a person itself, or was present in all living things. Hermione had somehow been cut off from her source of magic, and the severance was killing her. It was as if her lungs had stopped absorbing oxygen.

Harry wasn't putting himself in that sort of risk, as far as he could guess. He was giving up his ability to control magic, or at least the level of control he was used to. He would be able to do some things still, but general spell casting would be a thing of the past. McGonagall had explained that quite explicitly.

"You will be able to brew potions, fly a broomstick and Apparate," she'd said. "But anything requiring a wand will be lost. No wizard has ever gained full mastery of wandless magic, or anywhere even close. It simply isn't possible. Without a wand, you will be limited in your magical applications."

"An' don' forget, they break wands as a punishment," added Hagrid, who was laying out the ritual components he had gathered on McGonagall's desk. Harry smiled as he remembered Hagrid's old pink umbrella, which he deeply suspected contained the fragments of his own snapped wand. Harry wondered if he still had it. "No wizard, no matter how powerful, can do much without a wand."

"No, not even Grindlewald," said Harry, recalling a vision. "When Dumbledore beat him and took the Elder Wand, they simply locked him up and he couldn't escape. And he was really powerful, wasn't he? But once his wand was gone he wasn't a threat anymore."

"Couldn't Harry simply get a new wand?" asked McGonagall. She directed the question at Dumbledore's portrait, who was still peering down at them over his half-moon spectacles.

"There are subtle laws which govern wandlore," Dumbledore replied, interlocking his long fingers and resting his chin on them. "Once a wizard has been chosen for the first time by his original wand, no new one will ever give him true allegiance. Harry could try every unassigned wand in Ollivander's shop today and none would work for him. Of course he could _win_ a wand in a duel, but even that might not guarantee long-term results if he and the wand were incompatible."

"I used Draco Malfoy's wand decently enough, and you could hardly say we were compatible," said Harry. "But I beat Voldemort with it, after all."

"That you did," said Dumbledore. "But did it _feel_ right when you used it? Did you not return to your original wand as soon as you were able?"

"Yeah, I suppose I did," said Harry. "It just felt better with my own wand."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "It took years for me to truly become comfortable with the Elder Wand. And, indeed, it with me. In truth, if it weren't for my fascination with the Deathly Hallows I might have followed your example and returned to my own wand, Harry. But that wand was truly unique, not to mention immensely powerful it its own right. There have not been enough studies into the extended effects of switched allegiance in wands, simply because it is incredibly rare for it to happen.

"In any case, the power of the phoenix has been within you your entire life. Your wand, with Fawkes' feather as its core, recognised the connection and choose you. This is the power you now intend to hand over to Miss Granger. There is no telling how much of that power is intrinsic to your overall magic. Giving it away may deny you magic use entirely, even if you borrowed another's wand. There may not be enough magic left in you to cast even the most basic of spells."

"So we may be turning him into a Squib?" asked McGonagall.

"It is impossible to rule it out. This is new ground - it has never been attempted before."

"So I can only perform magic so easily because I'm a perfect fit with my wand?" asked Harry.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "The resonance between wizard and wand is incredibly important. Just look at how your wand responded to the threat against Voldemort when you were physically unable to. When that union happens, the wand becomes an aspect, an extension of you. In your case, it acted on your behalf when your need was greatest.

"You need look only at your friends Mr Weasley and Mr Longbottom. Both used inherited wands - in Mr Weasley's case he was a third-generation owner after his grandfather, Apologius, and his brother, Charles. Neither had such good results with magic until they took ownership of their own wands."

"That's true," said Harry, considering it for the first time. "Neville became so much better after he broke his Dad's wand and got his own."

"His father's wand didn't connect to Mr Longbottom," said Dumbledore. "It resisted him, due to his own uncertainty. It made him less confident and became a vicious circle. Only when he took possession of his own wand and developed a new sense of trust with it, did his own power truly come to the surface."

"So, taking away Mr Potter's magical connection might mean he can never link with another wand again, is that what you are suggesting?" asked McGonagall.

"One can only speculate," said Dumbledore. "As I said, this is a very complex and confusing field of magic. Anything is possible when you tread new ground."

Harry sat there and considered the exchange. He thought he should have felt more worried, more disturbed. But he wasn't. He had spent the entire day going over this and he had accepted it now. He would miss magic. He knew he'd feel disabled by its absence for the longest time. But he'd get used to it. People who lost the use of sight or hearing learned to adapt all the time. Harry would simply have to do the same. He would have to adjust. He had grown up without magic, he'd live just fine without it now.

And if it was a life with Hermione it would be so much more than worth it.

"As long as it doesn't kill me, I'm prepared to make the sacrifice," said Harry. All eyes, painted and living, turned to him. "Hermione is the one we need to worry about, not me."

"Your devotion to Miss Granger is clear, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Though I think she would be rather cross with us if we didn't point out what you'd be giving up."

Harry frowned. "I don't see it as giving anything up. Its an exchange. My magic for Hermione's life. And its a trade I _gain_ in. Her being back with us is infinitely more important to me than my ability to do magic. I'm just keen to get on with it."

"I have everything ready," said McGonagall. "Is there anything you need, Hagrid?"

"No, Ma'am," Hagrid replied. "I got a ball of myrrh - which will make the egg shell - an' a vial of fresh morning dew to feed the baby bird, an' the bones of a heron to form the body. We got shavings of cassia bark to make a nest, an' a bowl of volcanic salts soaked in firewhiskey. Tha' should give the little guy enough kindling to be goin' on with. All we need now is Harry's wand for the feather and the holly to be the First Burn."

Hagrid looked at Harry. It was with respect and reverence, but Harry also felt it was like returning the torch. Hagrid had been his first guide, his initial source of knowledge as he entered this new and fantastical world. He'd been there when Harry first got his wand, when he'd first controlled his magic. It was circular, fitting somehow, that Hagrid would be part of this now.

"Here you go," said Harry, handing over his wand. He had no reluctance but he noticed a warmth leave his arm as he dropped the wand into Hagrid's huge palm. It was dwarfed by his massive digits. It was a stark indication of just how little Harry felt he was sacrificing. There wasn't warmth, or friendship, or love in that little stick. It was in the fingers, in the palm, in the blood pumping beneath the skin of the person who wielded it.

And to get Hermione's back, the loss of a wand was an infinitesimal price to pay.

"Then that's everything," said McGonagall. "I have the ritual incantations written on this scroll. The ceremony will require us to link Mr Potter and Miss Granger in a very unique and personal way. It might feel a little uncomfortable for you, Mr Potter."

Harry scoffed. "I've never been uncomfortable with Hermione. I don't intend to start now."

McGonagall smiled at him. There was a knowing twinkle, dancing in her eyes. Harry felt his stomach jump at the sight of it, of what it suggested. She stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Oddly, Harry felt the urge to recoil. Touch had only felt pleasurable, desired, from one person. And that person wasn't the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Harry thought he might prefer it if nobody but her ever touched him ever again.

Harry permitted McGonagall to squeeze his shoulder, but still tensed at the action. It would be masked as stress over the coming procedure, so he was spared any explanation. It was agreed that the ritual would take place at dawn. A new day, to herald a new world entirely.

Or so Harry hoped.

He made his way slowly back to the Hospital Wing. The students would be at dinner about now. Going on with their day, not knowing or caring about the potential ground-breaking and monumental events about to take place a few floors above them. How would they react? What would they say to the idea that, in a few hours time, even the most struggling of the first-years might be able to best famous Harry Potter in a duel?

He laughed at the idea. He might still be able to out-brew them at Potions, if he swiped Snape's old textbooks again for a helping hand. He had a wild thought, comparing himself to Gilderoy Lockhart. A sham of a wizard, skilled in just one area. Well, he hadn't done too badly for himself, at least until he'd run into Harry, and Ron's misfiring wand. Maybe Harry could become a Hogwarts teacher, if the application criteria was so spurious.

The memory brought him to ideas of Ron, and his mood darkened quicker than the fading sky he could view out of the windows. He wondered where he was now, what he was doing. What he thought about all this. He must have been with Ginny, that made obvious sense. Both were missing, it wasn't much of a stretch to understand they must be together. Harry wondered if Ron knew about Hermione. Even in his anger towards his once best friend, he couldn't imagine Ron would be happy to know Hermione was in such a wounded state, clinging to life.

Harry felt he probably knew. There was no way Molly was telling the truth and didn't know where they were. She just didn't want to own up. Harry couldn't blame her for that. In his rage, he cast quite a senseless figure. One who'd just killed a powerful Dark Lord for sport. What mother would give away their children, expose them to a threat like that? Whatever else he could call her, Harry couldn't say Molly was a bad or reckless mother. She mollycoddled her kids too much, but that wasn't a wholly bad thing.

Though it had created the incessant ball of arrogance that was Ginny.

Harry couldn't think about her. It made his skin crawl. His very pores complained loudly at the memory of her touch, opening up as if to try and expel any lingering remnant of her soiled flesh, her repugnant scent. He didn't think he could ever wash enough to get rid of it. How would he deal with her, when the time came? He hardly knew. He wasn't allowed to act as judge, jury and executioner to her, as much as he'd like to be. Hermione was the injured party in all this, she'd have to decide how to proceed. She'd know the right thing to do.

Before he really knew it, Harry found himself at her bedside once again. Her mother had returned home. She planned to return tomorrow, a Saturday, when their dental practice would be closed. Her father had been a reluctant absentee, but Catrin had convinced him there was little he could do until Hermione's condition had improved. So he'd stayed home and held the fort as best he could.

He would be here tomorrow, to welcome his daughter back to the world.

Harry was cheered at the thought. He sat next to Hermione's bed and took her hand. It was dim and dusky in the ward now. The light was diminishing fast. Hermione's face was mostly in shadow, but dappled by what little light remained of the day. Harry watched her. He marked the moments by the rise and fall of her breathing, comforting him as he watched her so vividly alive. Her eyes were closed so softly she might just be dozing. The crinkle of sharp concentration he was so used to seeing was absent from her brow. She was settled and calm and there was the hint of a smile in her lips and the turn of her eyes. Harry reached up and brushed a stray curl of tawny hair from her cheek.

His hand lingered there for a while, far longer than he knew it should, tangled lightly in her bushy mane. It was surprisingly soft. It felt sordid to do this with her unable to tell him off, but he was powerless to stop. He ran his fingers through her hair, brushed the back of his fingertips across her cheeks and over her eyebrows. She looked obscenely lovely. He drank her in, rueful that he'd never indulged in this before. How had he not seen it, right in front of him? He saw it now, that was all that mattered. And in a few hours he could tell her.

That made him draw back, suddenly fitful and afraid. That's what this was all about, but now that he may be on the brink of it, the very concept terrified him. He couldn't just come out and say it. Or maybe that's just what he should do. Take the plunge and sod the consequences. But he couldn't, the risk was too great. The confusion, the dichotomy was jarring. But people did it all the time, people far less brave and courageous than he. He'd faced down dragons and Dark Lord's for Merlin's Sake.

But telling Hermione Granger he was in love with her was the scariest thing imaginable.

Harry gasped out loud and sat up, taut. His heart was racing, his very bones throbbing as the thought rushed through him. He felt his cheeks flush, his stomach knotting and churning as unfamiliar emotions flooded through him like crashing waves. There was a loud humming in his ears, though he couldn't imagine the source of it. His skin was prickling, his palms sweating suddenly. It was as if every single part of his body, of his very being, had been abruptly switched on and was coming to life all at once.

And the sensation threaten to overwhelm him.

He sat back and tried to quell his fluttering heart, to wrestle back control of his unchained thoughts. But both his mind and body resisted. They'd waited too long for the admission. They wanted to enjoy it, Harry's sensibilities be damned. There was a pleasure, an immeasurable joy in the release, in the acceptance and understanding. Harry marvelled at the power of it, of the surges of unbridled emotion sweeping over him. They unsettled him, shook and threatened to shatter his very foundations. But Harry was prepared to let it happen, for the promise of the rebuild of something infinitely more stable, more powerful and positive. It made him grin crazily to himself.

He was in love with her. In love with _Hermione_.

There it was, plain and simple. He marvelled at it, at the effect it had on every part of him. He allowed himself to feel it, to absorb it, urging it to become a very real part of him. He didn't want this sensation to end. He bristled as if electrified, as if energised by an infusion of something intangible but palpable at the same time. It washed through every sinew of him, like an invigorating balm. If she awoke now, he would give in to it, throw himself at her feet and beg for her favour. He knew the reality would be a lot different, but for now he was content to bask in his own soppy romance novel. He reached over and hugged Hermione's still form, trying to pass on some of the immense heat he could feel coursing over his skin.

"Soon, you'll be back with me," he whispered to her. "And - don't ask me how - I'll find a way to tell you about this. And you'll feel it too. Its incredible. You'll see...I'll tell you...I'll say I..."

But he couldn't say the words. Though, for the first time, it wasn't because he felt unworthy, or unable. For he knew now he _could_ love, he did love. He felt it all over. He loved Hermione. So very much that it throbbed and ached all through him. So he _wasn't_ broken. He wasn't irreparable after all. He had been fixed. Hermione had fixed him, just by being there for him to love, and she didn't even know it yet. There was more to do, much much more, but that would come.

"I'll fix you, too," Harry whispered again. "Rest now. We'll speak...really soon."

Harry placed a gentle kiss on Hermione's forehead. He needed to rest, too. He had a big day ahead.

And he'd never looked forward to the dawn so much in his entire life.

* * *

Hermione had always liked water. There was something calming about gently bobbing waves and the rush and crash of a breaking tide. She had never been one for sandcastles and crab hunting in the rock pools of Britain's seaside resorts. But she adored the tidal inlets and canals of Abingdon, where she'd grown up. She'd spent many happy hours in leafy, shaded retreats, book in hand, reading until it was time to go home, watching the brightly coloured narrow boats float by, waving to the equally colourful characters who piloted them and imagining all the fascinating places they might be going.

She remembered first reading _Modern Magical History_ on a barge from Abingdon to Oxford after receiving her invitation to Hogwarts. Her father wanted her to see the great colleges of the city, a final attempt to persuade her to take on a more traditional route for her education. But Hermione was determined, her mind set on the interesting curve ball life had thrown at her. She had questions about her nature, the reason she'd felt so disconnected to her youthful classmates. The reason they'd shunned her. The things she could feel and sense and do that others around her didn't share. She wanted to learn everything she could. Magical history seemed a good place to start.

That's where she'd first learned about Harry Potter.

He was a fascinating subject. Such a poor, unfortunate life. What a wretched beginning he had endured! His parents murdered. He, himself, surviving the most vicious curse even designed. The Killing Curse. No-one else had ever survived it. But, somehow, this baby, _had._ How curious! Hermione had cross-referenced him in all the books in which he appeared, and there were a few. There was some history, a good dose of conjecture and some downright nonsense that was simply hero worship. She wondered what he thought about it all, and how she would feel in his place.

He would probably be such a pampered little prince. He'd lost everything, but he was bound to have been placed with a sympathetic family. The details were sketchy. He lived with Muggle relatives, but they were bound to have spoiled him rotten. That's where Hermione first learned the word Muggle. She didn't like to think of her parents as Muggles. She couldn't explain it, but the term sounded derogatory. Muggle. Too close to _muddled_ for Hermione's liking. As though non-magic people were somehow backward, muddled-up. Her parents were anything but, _she_ was anything but. Top of her class by a mile. She was on a special list for high-performing students. High school promised to push her talents forward. That wouldn't make her any friends, but Hermione was prepared for that.

After all, she didn't have any friends anyway.

She thought this Harry Potter character might actually be the same. Imagine being really magic, having just saved the entire wizarding world from a tyrant - even though he wouldn't know much about it - and then having your name known by everyone. It would turn anyone's head. He would likely think himself above everyone, unique and special, especially in a Muggle school. Nobody would be good enough to be his friend.

But would that make him lonely? Hermione thought it might. She was terribly lonely herself, after all, friendless and solitary as she was. Being academically brilliant was all well and good, but she was more comfortable with books than people, and though she tried to be nice and helpful to her schoolmates, she knew she came across as bossy. Maybe even as a show-off. She couldn't help it. She was clever, it was who she was. So she couldn't express herself to others clearly - that wasn't her fault. She knew no other way. She was socially naive. It made people cool towards her, no-one wanted to look past her reputation, to make friends with the person underneath.

Maybe Harry Potter was the same.

He would be about the same age as her. It was possible he'd be starting Hogwarts the same time she was. That made things interesting. Maybe she'd seek him out, see what he was like. She would need a good excuse. Being from a Muggle family she wouldn't be expected to know his story, so that was out. Not that she'd want to do that anyway. It would be utterly shameful to race up to him like some smitten fangirl, begging for a hug and an autograph. Unless that's what he liked, or was used to. And if that was the case, Hermione wouldn't want to get to know him anyway. He'd more than likely be a horrendous person. Arrogant and spoilt.

But if he was different, unexpected somehow, there was a good chance they'd get on. They had lots in common already. Outsiders of a sort, coming into a new world together. It would be so exciting to have someone to share all the new discoveries and experiences with. They could swap stories, compare it to the world they both knew. Surely, it would make them really good friends.

But what if he was cute? That might complicate things down the line.

Hermione had crossly blocked out the thoughts. She hadn't even met the boy and she was dreaming up all sorts of silly scenarios involving him. He definitely wouldn't want to know her anyway. He was a star, a celebrity. She was a nobody, a bossy bookworm. He wouldn't even notice her, even if she could find a way to fall across his path. But, even so, she had to keep her eye out for an opportunity.

She hadn't expected a toad to lead her to this pampered prince. It was too fairytale, even in a world of magic.

But Harry Potter had been so different to anything she could have imagined. Shy, almost painfully so, but so brave and loyal and true. None of the arrogance she might have expected from him. He knew nothing of his own story. In fact, the basic knowledge he did have seemed to make him cower from the limelight. He didn't quite know how to be. He certainly wasn't the character the textbooks made him into. He totally didn't look the hero of legend they painted him as.

Harry Potter of real life was thin, threadbare. At the time, Hermione had known nothing of his mistreatment at home, of the neglect and practical torture he'd endured for all of his eleven years. His eyes betrayed the age of his soul, the unnatural ageing he'd gone through to cope with all the horrors of his early life. He was far from pampered. He was malnourished, unloved, and more lonely than even Hermione had ever felt.

And she had wanted to hug him since that first train ride together.

He looked lost, desperate for a guide. He'd found Ron Weasley but, looking back from her place now, he wasn't the best person to hand-hold him through the black unknown. Harry had an intensity, even then, that was magnetic. Hermione had found herself drawn to him, and was even willing to endure Ron as a teasing and often cruel element. It was a necessary evil. Harry was so earnest, but so innocent. She couldn't let him simply be. How could such horrific events have befallen such a lovely and brave boy? It didn't seem fair.

But he was in danger of letting his eagerness to prove himself lead him astray. And Ron was an irksome source of encouragement. Hermione had to get involved, even if it meant annoying him. It was for his own good. He couldn't let himself be put in danger so recklessly, he was too good to warrant that.

So that first year she'd done just that, stepped on his toes a bit to try and curtail him. He didn't seem to hold it against her, never criticised her, not the way Ron had. In fact, he'd raced to her rescue when everyone else had forgotten about her. He'd chosen to go toe-to-toe with a twelve foot mountain troll. For her. A girl he barely knew, who had only ever been an annoyance to him if anything.

Merlin had her heart stirred for him after that.

She was an academic, bossy sort, but she fantasised about the fairytale romance as much as the next girl. It didn't get much more visceral than being saved from a gigantic troll by the boy of your dreams. And Harry had so become that after this particular incident. She shyly admitted he might have been that already, but seeing him charging in to her rescue, even though he had no idea how to pull it off, was the icing on the cake.

She had a crush on Harry Potter from that moment on.

And then they were friends. And Merlin was he more than she could ever have dreamed of. He was unspeakably lovely. It wasn't just his courage and selflessness and his aversion to his own star status, he was caring and courteous and attentive to her. He was a proper friend. She'd never known one before, but he was her best one already. She was keen to help him with his school work, though, in truth, he didn't need that much help. But Ron did, and it gave Hermione an excuse to be around them both.

It was an excuse she jumped on. For whereas Harry was old beyond his years due to his macabre experiences, Hermione was likewise so from her inability to connect with her peers. She was more used to talking to adults than other children. It made her seem older than she was, just like Harry. She struggled to make friends with other kids at Hogwarts. It was just her and Harry and Ron. And she liked that just fine.

She liked it even more when it was just her and Harry, conspiring to spirit Norbert the dragon away from Hogwarts. Hermione thought she hadn't ever felt as connected to someone as she did to Harry during that adventure. She was even bashful about them losing all the house points when they were caught out of bed. It was naughty, but it was worth it. She didn't know it would set the tone for the future of their relationship. Danger, risk, something forbidden overriding it all.

But it made them unspeakably close.

Hermione now saw how totally dumb it was that she had never considered that they should be more than friends. If it was for anyone else, if she had analysed it for any couple she knew, the obviousness would have jumped out at her immediately. It had started during their first year and simply continued and intensified every year since. Hermione could have written several scrolls on the romantic instances between them during the last seven years. Instances that were soaked in romantic symbolism.

She'd first considered it after they'd rode Buckbeak the Hippogriff. Hermione had been dubious of Hagrid's knowledge of the beasts under his care. Yes he was the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and knew a lot, but Draco Malfoy wasn't entirely wrong - he was also a partially-educated half-giant. This was Hermione's education. She wouldn't leave anything to chance.

So she'd looked up Hippogriffs. They were the symbol of impossible love. Griffins liked to eat horses. They were impossible mates. But there it was. An eagle-headed horse. A griffin and a horse. An impossible union. Like a star boy and a nobody girl.

And they'd ridden this love symbol together.

It had shaken Hermione to understand this. She'd let a toad lead her to a prince, then she'd ridden a symbol of love with him. Hermione wasn't one prone to folly or coincidence. But what were the chances? She had to rein in her silly heart. It was in danger of becoming fanciful in her adolescence. She beat it back. It was nonsense. She didn't crush on or fall for boys. It wasn't her way.

But Harry Potter was pushing her resistance something chronic.

Hermione sighed and looked out from her little boat. It was like she was reliving her past as though she were still there. She could feel her coyness, the way she grew stupid and shy around Harry and tried to hide it by being even more annoying to him. She remembered how she trembled so on the walk to McGonagall's office to tell her about Harry's new broomstick during Third Year. He would be so mad when he found out. But she was determined. It was so dangerous. Who bought a famous boy an expensive new broomstick out of nothing? It was riddled with danger, but the teachers hadn't seemed to have spotted it. How foolish could they be? Hermione wouldn't let her Harry - er, _everyone's_ Harry - be placed in such peril.

And Harry had acted as she'd expected and shunned her for weeks. But he forgave her easily enough when he saw she was only looking out for him. It had been worth it. Harry was safe. She daren't test him again for a bit, though. Then they went back in time together. Oh Merlin how she'd been tempted to use that time turner for other things. She could have gone back again and again until she found a way to make Harry fancy her, for she was developing a strange longing to be around him that he didn't seem to return. And she throbbed with a need for him to reciprocate her feelings.

But that was ages ago, Hermione thought. She was watching Harry furiously tying knots in the mooring ropes tied to the jetty far away. He was sweaty and red-faced, but there was something stirring in that. Hermione almost wanted to return to shore and flannel him down. Her body did odd flips at the thought, but it wasn't enough to make her move. She was still thinking.

For Ron Weasley was oddly on her mind. Where had he come from? How had he invaded her heart? She'd never considered him before. There was Harry, then there was nothing. And Hermione would have chosen nothing over Ron. She wasn't a slave to expectation. Then, out of nowhere, she'd developed an obsession for Ron. Just because she couldn't have Harry it didn't mean she would settle for Ron. She was too independent to become that cliche.

But then, quite unexpectedly, she had.

It jarred her to think of it now. It struck at her, pricked at her sensibilities. She loved Ron very much, but they were so different. He was so far from boyfriend material he might as well have been a goat. They always rowed, he constantly put her down and hurt her feelings. How can she have let herself entertain the idea of a relationship with such a boy? They wouldn't have been happy. They couldn't have made _each other_ happy. What had they been thinking? All they had done was drive Harry away by excluding him.

Poor Harry! Hermione felt a spiky surge of self-loathing cut through her. It made the boat move towards the shore. That was odd. She felt an urge to see Harry, to explain somehow that she hadn't meant the whole 'Ron thing'. Why she felt the need for an explanation she couldn't define, but the desire was burning strong within her. It was a burn that didn't seem to want to go away. It was tingling in her fingertips, rushing up her spine and into her head.

It wasn't a bad sensation by any means, but it was weird for sure. It warmed her, and only then did she realise how cold she was. Wherever she was. Hermione looked around. How did she get here, on this lake? She didn't remember, but she felt like she'd been here a while, years maybe. What had she been doing? Harry was still on the little pier at the shore, closer now but still an unfathomable distance away. Hermione wanted to talk to him. She felt she had so much to say to him, but she couldn't quite remember what. She had to get in before he went away.

But she couldn't move. Her body didn't want to respond to her commands. Don't be so silly. She wasn't paralysed. Or was she? She was lying down in the boat. She thought she'd been lounging, but now she considered it, she thought she couldn't move of her own accord. How bizarre.

Then a pain struck her in the back of her head. She thrust her hand up to cup it. She could move her hand! Then that burning again, more pronounced now, but almost like a helping heat. It was healing her! She felt a lump at the base of her neck, but it grew smaller and smaller as she massaged it. And there was something moist there, trickling down her neck. They were tears, but not human ones. Where had she felt that before?

Then the water moved, as though alive. Hermione felt suddenly terrified. There was something in the water, beneath it, the whole thing was living and lethal. Something dangerous and hungry. It wanted to devour her. It made her senselessly afraid. She tried to call out for Harry, certain he was still close by. But she couldn't see him and there was such an awful noise around the lake that he couldn't possibly have heard her through it. It was a sound that throbbed in her bones and tugged the veins to the brink of her skin. She was going to die, she knew it. The end was close by. She felt hot tears fall from her eyes. She had to hold on, had to see Harry one more time, had to tell him...

Something screeched loudly in the mist. The sound penetrated Hermione's body like warm, soothing honey. It steadied and steeled her. There was a powerful bird flying nearby. Hermione couldn't see it, but she could feel the beat of its wings and its heart, as though she were flying with it. It was warning off the dark forces gathering around her. It's song echoed and danced around her, energising and invigorating her very soul. Something powerful was happening to her. She was suddenly aware, alive and awake.

And memories were flitting into her mind. Snippets of conversation, snatches of discussion. Not all of them were comforting. Harry was planning to do something utterly foolish. She had to get to shore quickly and stop him before he went too far. The boat was speeding now, riding up on its hull as it cut through the marshy water. Hermione urged it on, feeling stronger and more cogent with each passing moment.

And then, once the shore was in sight, the boat was suddenly upturned.

Hermione felt the ice of the water as she was dragged down into the dark depths. It filled her lungs, pricked at her skin the deeper she went. She couldn't breathe, couldn't spit the water out as it flooded in through her very skin. She began to panic, tried to cry out, but it only drew dark shapes towards her. Shiny, razor-sharp teeth were bared in her direction, she had no time.

So she relaxed, allowed herself one last, happy thought of Harry, and prepared for her fate.

Then flame burst all around her. It melted the teeth, burned the beasts they belonged to. And suddenly she was soaring from the water, lifted up on the beats of powerful wings. Were they her own? She couldn't tell, but she didn't feel the fire burning everywhere she could see. She was flying as if weightless. She rose above the inferno below and landed on the pier at the edge of the lake. She was part herself, part bird. She suddenly had new knowledge, important stuff. The bird was talking to her, telling her things. Things she had to implant in her mind. She dared not forget them.

Then she remembered.

Like a deluge, knowledge crashed into her mind. She recalled everything she'd heard, everything that had been attempted to save her. And they'd let Harry hit on this last solution. Hermione was too late, she knew that. The damage had been done. But she had to get inside, had to save Harry. She raced into the wooden hut.

Suddenly she was laying in bed, gasping hard as if breaking the surface of water. Her eyes shot open. McGonagall was there, her wand holding a cord of energy between Hermione's head and Harry's, who was laying unconscious on an adjacent bed. Without speaking, Hermione reached up and swatted McGonagall's wand away. The Headmistress looked up, startled.

"Stop! _Stop"_ Hermione cried. "You'll kill him!"

The Headmistress did as instructed. Hermione was so animated she dared not argue. Hermione jumped up, mindless of a wave of nausea and dizziness which hit her as she stood. She crouched next to Harry, turning his head this way and that, urging him to wake.

He didn't.

"My wand! Give me my wand!" Hermione commanded. Nobody moved. "Oh for Merlin's Sake. _Accio wand!"_

Amazingly, a side drawer flew open and Hermione's wand flew to her grip. McGonagall looked agape at her.

"What? I've been practising for three years!"Hermione offered by way of explanation. She turned back to Harry. She placed her wand directly over his scar and began speaking incantation after incantation. Nobody interrupted her. Nobody knew what she was doing. It seemed to have no effect.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Harry's eyelids began to flutter.

"Wake up, Harry," Hermione whispered.

Harry, as if unable to disobey, slowly opened his eyes. He seemed disorientated a while. It took him a few moments to get his bearings. When he did, his body went from groggy to hyper-alert in a flash.

"Hermione? _Hermione_! You're awake!"

Without any warning, Harry leapt up and threw his arms around Hermione's neck. His embrace was so strong he drew her down onto him. She let herself go. He smelled really good. It was comforting. She snaked her arms around his waist, pressing into him as she fell atop his body. She didn't care who could see or what they might think. Her heart kicked up into her throat as Harry clung hard to her. She knew what he'd given up for her, but she'd never felt anyone so pleased to see her. Harry didn't care about anything but this hug, so all else could wait.

"You're awake, you're alive," Harry whispered into her ear. His hot breath kissed her skin and made her heart do wild cartwheels. "I thought you'd left me. Please don't scare me like that."

Hermione hugged into him harder. "I'm here, Harry. I'm not going anywhere. But...what happened...what you did..."

Harry and Hermione were disturbed by a strangled croak. They broke apart in time to see the milky blue egg-shell crack open as a ragged baby bird emerged from it with that throaty cry. Hagrid sprang to action, hurrying forward and pressing droplets of morning dew into the thirsty mouth of the newly formed phoenix.

The ritual had worked.

"Ain't he beautiful?" Hagrid cooed.

Harry wasn't so sure. It was as though the new bird was made of excess scrotum skin from where Harry was sat. But it was Hermione's phoenix. It had helped her back to life. That was enough to make it the most beautiful thing ever.

"You're going to need to give it a name," said Professor McGonagall. She was smiling at Hermione, still sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "And you're going to have to explain that little bit of hocus pocus you just did, Miss Granger."

"One thing at a time," said Hermione. "The phoenix told me her name is Solaria, daughter of Fawkes. Secondly, she told me she will happily give up one of her feathers."

"For what purpose?" asked McGonagall.

"To remake Harry's wand, of course," said Hermione simply. "I know everything that has happened, but all is not lost. Hagrid, I believe there are holly trees in the Forbidden Forest. We will need a sturdy branch. And Headmistress, will you please summon Mister Ollivander here. I'm fairly confident I can do this, but I only know the theory. I'd like an expert on hand."

Harry looked at Hermione, awestruck. "You can make me a new wand?"

Hermione smiled back at him with such affection Harry felt obliged to look away. "Not just any wand, the most powerful wand ever made. Death didn't make the Elder Wand, Harry, a skilled wandsmith did. Do you think I wouldn't have researched this? I was thinking about it when we were hunting Horcruxes. If some wands are better than others, why couldn't we have made a better one for you? Now, after your sacrifice for me, Solaria's feathers are imbibed with such _power_ , you wouldn't believe it. She told me so. Don't worry, Harry. You'll have your magic back in no time."

Harry wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone. There was a twinkle in her eye, something Harry knew was important but wasn't sure how. He thought she might have wanted him to do that which he was desperately struggling against. He searched for guidance but was lost in Hermione's smile. He would let her lead, she would keep him safe. He was confident of that. She'd know what to do. One thing was for sure.

It was the best dawn ever.


	14. Moments

Birds rose from the Forbidden Forest, fast moving dots against an orange-dappled sky. They sang as they flew, an aria to mark the new morning. The Giant Squid lolled and lazed in the warm shallows of the Lake, basking in the warmth and thrumming lowly in as if in duet. All was still, calm, nothing to disturb the beauty of the new day.

It made Harry smile.

He was sat with Hermione. A companionable silence encircled them. There was no need to speak, even though there was so much to say. There would be time for that. For now they were just content to enjoy the moment, the morning, the comfort of their exclusive company. Nothing else was permitted. No people, no sounds, no words. And it was beautifully perfect.

Harry was lounging against the trunk of the large beech tree overlooking the rippling waters of the Great Lake. It was so blue this morning, refreshing and enticing, sunlight caressing the top of the wave crests. Harry half-thought about taking a swim, but the idea of exposing himself checked this bizarre urge. So he simply sat and watched the gentle ebb and flow of the tide, relaxing as he followed the graceful motion. He had spent so much time here during his years at the school. He carelessly wondered if the roots at the base had grown purposefully to cup his arse so snugly as they did now.

The thought made him chuckle.

Or rather, the nature of it did. It was such a throwaway thought, pointless and silly. But Harry welcomed it greatly. It had been a long time since he had allowed such unloaded ideas into his mind. It felt like an indulgence. This thought wasn't tinged with fear, tainted with worry, or painted red by his own anger and fury. It didn't drown him in sorrow, or tense him with guilt. It was just there. Meaningless and speculative. Whether it went anywhere, or found an answer was irrelevant. It was just something to waste thought on, as he enjoyed a lovely, low-key morning.

He looked up at Hermione. She was watching him at that moment. He couldn't remember if she'd always been watching him, or if he'd just caught her at it. But she didn't look away. She fixed him with an unwavering gaze. It was searching, querying. She was looking for answers in his face, like he was a particularly troublesome homework problem. He had seen her do it many times, but to watch the process flit across her expression as she studied _him_ was a little unsettling. He couldn't guess what she might be thinking. It made him feel exposed, like he was being x-rayed. He looked away coyly and watched the water again.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice gossamer soft.

Harry felt a lump lodge in his throat. He couldn't explain why. There was just that something in her tone. He looked up at her. He didn't need to speak. They were familiar enough with their expressions, skilled in wordless communication with one another. It often made words irrelevant.

"Would you lift me down please?"

Harry's stomach gave one of those almighty flips again. He stood up. Hermione had been having difficulty moving since she woke from Ginny's curse. Her body was stiff and not wholly repaired yet. So Professor Flitwick had performed a nifty little charm on a comfy chair, so that it levitated and could be pushed around. Or, more precisely, so that _Harry_ could push it around. Not that he minded. In fact, he was happy to do it. It allowed for some private time with Hermione, like this morning at the lake.

But now she wanted to come down, to sit on the floor. To sit _with_ _him_. Harry shivered at that concept, of what it suggested. It was so wholly desired, but so irrationally feared also. His bravado before the phoenix ritual had retreated back behind his walls, as he fully knew it would. He was intimidated by Hermione, in awe of the raw power of his feelings for her. He couldn't face them. They would drown him, they made him drunk around her, unable to properly function. He chastised himself for his faltering courage. But there was hope there also.

For Hermione seemed to be going though _exactly the same._

Harry couldn't have articulated how he was so assured of this, but he was fairly confident in his assumptions. There was something in how she looked at him, an unnamed feeling he could sense but could not rationally accept. That lingering niggle of doubt flared up every time he saw it, cuffing him back from his certainty. Then he would have to build it up all over again.

There were times she looked on the verge of tackling the topic herself. When they'd first discussed the phoenix ritual, she'd stopped shy of mentioning the fundamental link it had produced between them, sensible of the landmine that topic was. Where the conversation might have led. She had looked imploringly at Harry, as though urging him to take up the mantle. But he had stumbled over his words, his courage had failed again and the moment passed.

But a new moment was approaching now. Harry, wandless as he was, could not move Hermione by magic. Ollivander the Wandsmith had been curt and haughty at Hermione's notion that she could fashion Harry a new wand herself, based on a passing knowledge of the theory. The art of wand-smithing was ancient and precise, he had offered. Not the domain of a teenage witch, no matter how talented she was.

So Ollivander had taken the holly provided by Hagrid, and a feather of Hermione's baby phoenix, as well, weirdly enough, as a lock of Hermione's own hair, and decamped to his workshop to craft Harry's bespoke wand. He was rather indignant of the procedure. This wasn't how it normally worked. But, as Hermione pointed out, Harry was hardly normal and Ollivander would be well paid regardless. Satiated, the old wand maker had left courteously enough, warning that it would take up to a month at least to carry out the operation.

Hermione steadfastly refused to let Harry borrow her own wand. She said it would do him good to go without magic for a few weeks. It would be character-building, she insisted. He knew she was just teasing him, but he was prepared to let her have her fun. He was prepared to let her have anything she wanted, actually.

She could have _him_ , if only she'd ask.

His whole body jolted at that idea. The vision of that conversation made him more nervous and excited than anything he could picture. To hear Hermione say those words, to confess that she had fallen so deep and helplessly as he…it was almost too much. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself together in that moment. But then, he'd have Hermione to hold him. And he could hold her back, hopelessly and endlessly entwined. It was a sweet image.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice pulled him from his dreamscape. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"I thought I'd lost you there a moment," she said, grinning. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…fine," Harry croaked.

"Well then, lift me down please," she said brightly.

Harry stepped forward. His heart was thrumming merrily beneath his ribs. It knew what was coming, it yearned for it. Harry slowly, delicately, placed his right arm around Hermione's back, his left snaked under her legs behind her knees. She inched her arms, almost shyly, around his neck, linking her hands and leaning into him so that her head was practically nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Her hair tickled his face. Harry wobbled as a thousand pin-pricks of electricity erupted across his skin. He breathed in the scent of her hair. It was floral, or fruity, maybe both. Harry couldn't tell. His senses were overloaded. He held the breath, swam in the fragrance. It was intoxicating.

He made to move and Hermione sighed, edging in closer. The sound delayed Harry, for just a second too long. He simply stood there, practically hugging her. It was too obvious an action for it to be construed as anything else. He gave into it and pulled her closer. She didn't draw away, or offer any signal of complaint. Her head was pressed tight to him, it would be the smallest, easiest thing to kiss her just then. Harry almost did. He could feel her smiling into his chest.

But he baulked again.

Instead of moving in, Harry simply lifted Hermione from her floating seat. She was surprisingly light, or Harry wasn't conscious of his own upper body strength. He carried her easily towards the beech tree, but was appalled by the idea of letting her go.

"I feel like a little bride," she said suddenly. Harry froze, tense and taut. Was this the moment?

"Er…not much of a threshold, is it?"

"Well, no, you're right there," said Hermione. Her shoulders sagged slightly. Harry swore silently at himself. Had she set that up for him, and he'd just missed it completely? For fuck's sake, Potter. Be on your toes!

"Besides," she went on, "not exactly the best place to live. Under a tree in the Hogwarts grounds."

"It might be all I have," said Harry lightly.

He placed Hermione gently on the ground. She looked up, then patted the earth beside her. Harry obeyed and rested languidly against the tree. The natural slope of the ground made Hermione turn right into him so their sides were flush together. Neither made a move to pull away. In fact, Hermione shifted slightly so she was more comfortable, resting her back against the side of Harry's chest.

Without thinking, as though it were the most natural thing to do, Harry brought his arms around her and knotted his hands in her lap. He heard her gasp…and her failed attempt to mask it. But she didn't complain or scold him. Instead, she stretched out her legs and leaned back into his embrace. Then she did something wholly unexpected. Slowly, testingly, she brought her hands over Harry's own, encasing his locked fingers beneath her palms.

Now it was Harry's turn to stifle a gasp. He could feel tenseness in Hermione's body. She was holding a breath, he knew it. There was a slight shiver to her skin where it touched his own. She was nervous, maybe as much as he. Though it seemed impossible. With minute coaxing movements, scarcely daring to hope Hermione would allow it, Harry eased her back towards him. She went willingly, without even the barest hint of resistance. She was so tight to him now his chin was resting on top of her head. She let out her breath and Harry tightened his grip around her, as her thumb traced tentative circles across the back of his hand.

Harry's thoughts were tap-dancing to a frenzy. He had lost the power of cogent thought. Was this really happening? Was he really sat here, hugging Hermione to him, as intimate as if she were his girlfriend? Was she actually _letting_ him? More than that, was she enjoying it too? If the electric little circles she was drawing on his skin with her thumb were any indication, Harry would be hard pressed to deny that she was. His heart was in overdrive. It was beating so forcefully he was sure Hermione would feel it drumming against her spine.

"Harry?" Her voice was airy, a little breathless. Harry couldn't cope with the sweetness of her tone.

"Mmm?" he offered. He sounded too contented. He knew that, but he couldn't help it.

"You didn't mean that, did you?"

_Mean what?_ The hug? Dare he say he meant it more than he'd meant anything ever before?

"Mean what?" he asked, cautiously.

"About having nowhere to live but under this tree?"

Harry let out yet another strained breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He was confused. Hermione didn't seem to notice there were other things going on. She'd gone right back to the conversation. And she was still making those madding soft circles against the back of his palm. You'd think this was a natural thing for them, the way she was carrying on. Harry was buoyed by the notion.

He thought about her question. Actually, right now, living under this tree might as well have been paradise. Harry would happily have stayed here forever, as long as Hermione was with him. He wished he could tell her that, but he couldn't. It might spoil the moment. He would do anything to drag this out, he wasn't going to risk it by turning into a fully-fledged, sodding lovesick girl.

"Well I suppose I have enough gold to get my own place," he said thoughtfully. "A better one than a tree house without the house! I know I have Grimmauld Place but, well, I don't know if I could stand to go back there. It holds nothing for me. But, I can't say I've genuinely thought about it. I didn't think I'd live past Voldemort to ever come up against problems like getting a mortgage."

Hermione laughed. It sounded like honey as it danced through Harry's ears. "Imagine that as part of your story - Harry Potter and the Irksome Estate Agent!"

"They better not write my story," said Harry firmly. "Try and serialise my life like some sort of living hero."

Hermione sighed. There was resigned sadness there. "I'm afraid that's almost certain to happen. You're such a fascinating subject, so dramatic. It isn't your fault, but there it is. There's never been anyone quite like you. They could write a book about each of your school years alone and they'd be best-sellers."

Harry sighed grumpily. "Yeah, you're probably right. Bastards. I wonder if I can take out libel claims already? They're bound to write all kinds of nonsense, aren't they?"

"I don't know. Your life has been full of interesting adventures without the need to make anything up. They'd make great stories. I'd read them."

"Of course you would, they'd be _books_ ," Harry teased. "But why would you need to? You were there. You'd be _in_ the stories, yourself."

"Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a proper little heroine," Hermione scoffed. "Poetic license wouldn't permit many scenes in the library, Harry. The writers would take me out…give you a gorgeous, sexy love interest in my place. Everyone loves a bit of romance."

Hermione spoke her last words quietly, her voice betraying a slight tremble. Her fingers had finally stopped smoothing Harry's skin. She was waiting. He knew she was. The seconds passed. Harry knew he was leaving her hanging, but the words were stuck somewhere in his throat. They wouldn't come out, no matter how much he urged them. He had to give her some encouragement, let her know he was doing his best against this seemingly insurmountable barrier.

So he gave her a proper squeeze, conveying all his affection, all his struggles to her. She seemed to understand. She increased the pressure on his hands, and she shook slightly as she leaned back into the cuddle. This little dance was silly, but neither seemed to know how to get past it. Harry wanted to cry out, to tell her that he'd never have made it anywhere without her. That there wouldn't be a Harry Potter story without Hermione Granger, central to his world since page one. That meeting her was the only good thing to come out of all his wretched experiences. That knowing her had made it all worth it. Or that he hoped the next chapters would be all about her, or all about _them._

And another moment passed.

Hermione sighed again. Harry expected disappointment from her, but there wasn't any. It was pure contentment. A human purr, coming from deep in Hermione's chest. Harry felt it as much as he heard it, shared it more than he'd ever find the words to express. He wondered if they even had to say anything. Perhaps they could just keep having moments like this. It would become normal. It felt so natural already. He knew she felt that as much as he. They could just start randomly hugging and holding hands and then it would be nothing to slip a kiss in. And they'd never have to say anything at all.

Harry wanted to kiss her, so very badly. He found himself obsessing about it. His eyes would drop to her lips at unguarded moments. She had caught him doing it, he was sure she had. But she hadn't snapped at him, or said anything at all. She had just let him stare. His mind raced at what she might have thought about it. But she never offered a response to his questioning looks. It was almost like laying down a challenge to him.

As though she'd only answer once he'd _tasted_ them, too.

Harry couldn't rightly process that. It made his brain swim with the dizzying nature of the notion. What _would_ they taste like? They looked soft. He imagined _soft_ as a taste. Sweet, fresh, like a spring mist. Cho had tasted salty, as her mouth had always been full of tears. Ginny tasted like fish. She was always fucking eating fish. Then she wanted to swap saliva with him. Harry didn't think he could gargle enough Listerine to get rid of the memory of that fish-breathed whore. Fucking Ginny, with her fanny like a wizard's sleeve. Good job he'd never gone down on her - he was a little bit afraid of the dark.

Merlin did he need to exercise that particular ghost. It rose in him at the worst times, spoiling more beautiful musings just as he was starting to enjoy them. It left a bitter, coppery taste on his tongue. He had to rid himself of it. He knew what the first use of his new wand would be, if it worked at all.

"Harry - did you really think you wouldn't live past Voldemort?"

Hermione snapped Harry back from his internal rant. He'd get back to that later. In his worry about Hermione he'd shelved his anger at the two youngest Weasleys, but it was bubbling away nicely at the side of his mind. He took a moment and returned his attention to Hermione, who was an infinitely more pleasing subject.

"For the longest time, no I didn't," he said. "I mean, we were pretty clueless, weren't we? We had no idea where the Horcruxes were, or what they were, or how to destroy the one we had. Then… _that night_ …when _he_ went…that was the worst time. I…I felt certain you were going to go with him. I couldn't have blamed you if you had. If I'd had lost you as well, that would have been the end of it. That was the the time I thought it the most."

"Oh, Harry, I would _never_ abandon you!" Hermione cried passionately. "I was so angry that night. Angry at Ron for storming off. Angry that Dumbledore hadn't done more, had placed you, placed _us_ , so callously in danger with nothing to go on. I was angry at myself, too, for assuming you knew more without even asking you. Ron and I thought you were just being your silly, noble self. Keeping things from us to try and keep us safe. I can't _believe_ you think I would have just left you all alone to face that task."

"It wasn't just the Horcruxes," said Harry. His throat constricted again. He took a gulp of steadying air. "I knew you cared more for Ron than me. That's really why you were so upset, I know. It was bound to make you follow him in the end, I was sure of it. But you stayed. You…you don't know this…but I checked every morning to make sure you were still there. I really didn't think you would be. It kept me going. I realised then that if Ron didn't come back, it didn't matter. As long as you didn't leave me, too. Then I…I found myself quite liking it when, you know, it was just the two of us. I didn't really _want_ Ron to come back in the end."

Hermione drew in a sharp, shocked lungful of the morning air, tensing against Harry's chest. He waited. Had he said something wrong? Gone too far? He barely dared move. Then, just as panic began to stir in Harry's mind, Hermione pulled his arms tight back around her and snuggled against him. She was breathing hard. Her whole body seemed to be rising and falling rapidly. Harry knew she'd be thinking hard too. He wished she'd tell him about what.

"It was nice, wasn't it?" said Hermione quietly, as though to herself. "When it was just us. Despite the dangers. I didn't think you would have seen it that way."

"That night…at Godric's Hollow…with m-my parents," said Harry, his cracked voice in danger of breaking as he recalled the memory. "I'm really glad that it was just you there with me. I wouldn't have wanted to share that moment with anyone else. What you did, with the roses, it was perfect. I never said thank you for that."

Hermione's breathing hitched. Harry, himself, swallowed hard. A surge of emotion came from somewhere deep down. He struggled to keep it in. He held Hermione tightly again, as though she were his anchor. He accepted that, actually, she probably was. She had been, for the longest time, he knew that suddenly. He hoped she wouldn't mind the role.

"So what do you think now?" Hermione asked tentatively, after a few breathless moments. "About the future, I mean. Now Voldemort is gone."

Harry sat in contemplation. "Honestly? I don't know what to think. I never expected it, so I don't really know how to be. When Voldemort returned, it felt like my life was on a countdown. I could only see the future in snatched moments that probably wouldn't happen anyway. And then he was gone, and suddenly I _had_ a future. I had no idea what I was supposed to do next."

"Is that why you went away?"

"Mostly," said Harry. "It all sort of hit me the night after the Battle. Everything came at me all at once. I knew I'd be a nightmare to be around. I didn't know how to deal with it. Ginny was an annoyance, wanting to get back with me as though nothing had happened. I sort of saw a future with her, and I fucking hated it. I wanted no part of it, all I wanted was to get away from her. She didn't know me at all, I realised that then. I wish me and her had never happened.

"Only you and Ron really knew what I'd been through, and _you_ were the only one likely understand how I was feeling, if anyone could. But it wasn't right for me to stay around and demand your attention either, not when you and Ron were just getting going. I didn't need his resentment on top of everything else. I had enough darkness in my mind to be going on with. I thought it was best for everyone that I just went."

An awkward silence fell over them as Harry's words faded away. It crept and slithered over them like a serpent. It made Harry's skin crawl. He couldn't explain it, or where it had come from. But it engulfed them like a heavy raincloud now. They sat a good few minutes before Hermione eventually spoke again.

"I think we should go back to the castle now," she said. "Will you put me back in my chair, please?"

"Are…are you alright?"

"What…oh yes," she said in a strangely pitched voice. "Its just that…well, I need a wee, Harry. That orange juice at breakfast has gone right through me."

"Oh, right," said Harry. He smirked, half-relaxed. He wasn't entirely sure Hermione was being totally truthful, but she was talking to him, so he wasn't about to press the matter. He stood and scooped her up again. She was feather-light, really. He placed her carefully back into the floating chair, then proceeded to walk them back to the castle.

They didn't speak on the short journey. Harry was nervous. He was dwelling on the sudden change in atmosphere between them, wondering what had caused it. There was no animosity, but something had happened and it was negatively charged. What had he said? Had his pointing out of his broken psyche, and the effort it would take to put up with his dark mood swings, thrown up barriers in Hermione's mind? Would that make her draw back from him? It didn't make sense that it would. Harry's mind flew back to that night in bed they'd shared.

She wasn't put off then.

So what was it? Harry had never been very good at reading situations like this. He had the intuitive skills of a brick wall when it came to reading moods. But usually he was pretty good when it came to Hermione. She was the exception. But now, he found himself totally flummoxed and not able to read her at all. He didn't like it one bit.

Harry took her all the way back to the Head Students dorm. It was more private for her there. He helped her down from her chair and turned to leave her to it. He didn't think he could stand the strained atmosphere for a moment longer. Hermione touched his arm as he moved away from her.

"Harry - if it hadn't been for Ron, would you have stayed?"

Harry looked at Hermione. Was this why the mood had darkened so suddenly? The mention of Ron, of their relationship? What was she looking for from him? There was something earnest in her expression. Harry was emboldened by it. A spark of courage rose in him. It was time for a little risk.

"Hermione…if it wasn't for Ron - I…I might have done a lot of things."

They locked eyes intensely. There were bolts of energy passing between them, across the small distance they were apart. It sent a prickly, spiky sensation over Harry's skin. He made to step in, just a toe or two. Hermione was visibly shaking. She licked her lips swiftly. Harry's eyes were drawn to them again. He didn't look away.

Then the door suddenly opened.

They practically flew apart. Hermione gulped a breath, Harry ran an errant hand through his hair and tried to look casual, feeling anything but. That had been close, so very close. He shook the intense flutterings from his head and looked to the door. It opened fully and Hermione's mother entered. She looked from one to the other, each looking guilty as if they'd stolen from the cookie jar. Far from being scandalised, Catrin merely grinned slyly at them both.

"Hello, you two," she said. "You've proven quite difficult to find."

"We were just at the lake," said Harry quickly. "But Hermione needed the loo and I…er, I had something to do, too. I'll um, just get to that, then. I'll pop by later."

Hermione smiled shyly at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. "Okay, see you later, Harry. If I was a bit better I'd help you with that…that thing you have to do."

Her eyes flashed brilliantly. Was he reading that right? Could she _actually_ mean…Harry shivered pleasantly at the look he was getting. He smiled gently back at her, gave a weird sort of curtsey to Catrin, then hurried out of the room to find a quiet spot in the castle, where his whizzing thoughts could all explode in safety.

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed in the quiet of her dorm room, her hands bunched up as frustrated fists in the quilt beneath her. She could have screamed out. She felt like it. If her body would have allowed it, she might have stomped around, jumped up and down on the bed and had a sort of child-like tantrum. But she was too fragile to do any of that. So she had to let the bubble of frustration surge and swell internally, to fill her up until she had no choice but to let it burst out.

And she was close to that point now.

Fucking Harry. Fucking stupid, silly, lovely, infuriating Harry. All those things he'd said, all those things he'd thought…and he'd never told her any of them. Fucking fucking Harry! She wanted to strangle him. Or perhaps kissing him senseless would be a better plan. If he would ever just stop playing the shy card and kiss her first. Her heart swooped at the idea. She called upon the times he'd stared at her lips. There was such a wanton look in his eyes when she caught him doing that. It set her blood to tremulous pumping. If that passion translated to an _actual_ kiss…

Fucking Harry!

Hermione flopped down and head-butted her pillow. Several times. She had to calm herself. This sort of fury might open up wounds to her healing body. That wouldn't do at all. Bloody Ginny Weasley, she had a lot to answer for. So, so much more now, after Harry's admission earlier. She had been a key part of driving him away. What a cunt! Such a thoughtless, arrogant, ginger fucking cunt! She hated Ginny with a passion, more now than ever.

But she hated herself a little bit, too. For not having more faith in herself. She had always hoped that Harry liked having her around, that being her friend was something he truly valued. But to learn that he not only wanted her around, but _needed_ her around, sent her heart into wild cartwheels. To hear that he was happy to spend time with just the two of them sent her mood into the stratosphere.

But why had he never said anything before?

It can't have been that he was afraid of her. That was just simple nonsense. In the world of Hermione Granger, Harry Potter was never likely to be afraid of confessing to enjoying intimacy with her. He would never have wanted anything of the sort, even. It was the kind of frenzied, exciting idea that happened to other girls. But Harry had just out and admitted it. The words still echoed in Hermione's mind.

And the memory made her grip her quilt more tightly still.

In fact, all of his words rang loudly for her, vying for analysis and consideration. They were confusing and convoluted, but, in a way, Hermione wished she had even _more_ to dissect. Harry had been on the verge of pouring out to her, she had felt that. He'd been to that point before, but had always pulled himself back. She wanted to tell him he could unload on her, if only she could find a way to make him feel safe and comfortable enough to do so.

But that wasn't his way, she knew that. He might never say everything he was thinking, of all that was troubling and torturing him. It took people time to get over things, Hermione was cognizant of that. And Harry had more than most to deal with. A lifetime of hurt, in fact. She was prepared to be patient with him, if only he'd give in and trust her wholly. That would bring them so close, into a cocoon of trust and dependence that nobody else would ever be able to invade. Not Ginny. Not Ron. Not anyone. It would be just the two of them.

And Harry would _like_ that.

Hermione could hardly get that idea to sit still on her. Her stomach did somersaults as she let the thought consume her. Of all the things Harry had said, and there were lots to deconstruct, that one jumped out at Hermione most pointedly. It was as close as Harry had yet come to confessing feelings that Hermione still only cautiously believed he might harbour for her. To have enjoyed the time when it was just the two of them in the tent, to have been thankful that they alone had shared such an intimate moment - in visiting his parents grave...even Hermione wasn't insensible of what he was trying to say.

Her heart ached at the thought. It was physical. She massaged her chest, to soothe the anxious throb that had sprung up there. Poor Harry. He had been suffering all alone. Wanting her company, needing her to be close, afraid to ask because he thought…argh! Bloody Ron! The pissing Weasleys again! If it wasn't one, it was the other. Getting in the way, putting up roadblocks. Hermione had only put her arm around Harry when he was at his most vulnerable, when she knew it was what he needed.

But it turned out he might have _wanted_ it at other times.

And Hermione was back to wanting to scream again. The frustration was almost crushing her. How much more did Harry want to tell her? For she felt there was more to come. It was sitting there, just below Harry's scarred surface. Oh how she'd love to kiss those scars away, how she'd love to _love_ them away.

She gasped aloud, threw her hand to her mouth to stop the breath, to grab hold of the notion that was released with it. Had she really just thought that? Did she…did she really feel _that_? Was that was this was? This unnamed, untamed torrent of crippling emotion that she'd been keeping at arms length for so long? This ephemeral thing that terrified her so much, almost as much as it stirred her to wondrous heights? Had it finally happened for her?

Was she _in love_ with Harry?

Right then, she couldn't think of a single reason to say she wasn't.

Her body was telling her in subtle ways that she was. She could see that now. Through the race of her heart, the quickening of her blood, the overload of her brain. The way she fluttered and trembled at the merest of touches with him. The way her insides flipped and chopped as she allowed herself the briefest of dreams of being more intimate with him. The way her world seemed to fall to wonderful pieces at any hint that he might want the same.

Oh Merlin how she hoped he wanted the same!

Her body throbbed with excited pulses as these ideas flooded her. She tested out the words in her mind. _I love Harry. I'm in love with Harry_. It removed any last doubt she had. There was truth, undeniable veritas in the very syllables. And the feeling of _rightness_ in the phrase struck right through to her very core. She couldn't deny it anymore. It was overwhelming, the magnitude of the proclamation astonishing. She could barely contain herself. But she did, with a swift, sobering thought.

What now?

The obvious action was the scariest thing she could imagine. Confessing to Harry. No, there was no way she had the courage for that. She didn't even know how she'd act when she saw him again. These new revelations would be at the forefront of her mind. Would it make her silly? Or shy? Or distant? She couldn't allow that. Harry needed her, he'd made that much clear. Even this idea set Hermione's heart to a foxtrot again. To feel _needed_ by Harry Potter was one of the most intense sensations she'd ever experienced.

To be _needed so much…_ by the person she was so utterly in love with…how was she supposed to respond to _that_?

It made her grin crazily and stamp her feet joyously into her mattress at the very least. Harry needed her. That was huge enough. If only she could coax out that he _wanted_ her, too. That would be the very thing. She wasn't far enough along to think that he might love her, too. It was too early to make that sort of leap. Oh Merlin, what a thought! Hermione felt the bottom of her stomach disappear at the idea. It was too much.

_One step at a time, Hermione,_ she thought out loud.

She went back over all he'd said that day, the precursor to all this. It gave her more hope than she'd ever permitted before. What had he meant about Ron, just before he almost kissed her? Oh, that had been so close! She was almost certain it was about to happen.

_If it hadn't been for Ron…I might have done a lot of things…_

Hermione ran over the words in her mind again and again. Could that have really meant what she hoped it did? It had to, didn't it? When she paired it with his other confessions it all added up to one thing. Harry didn't want Ron to come back to the tent. Not because he was angry with him, but because he didn't want to share _her_ with him. He was happier with it being just the two of them. If Ron _hadn't_ come back, if they'd just carried on together, what might have happened then?

Truth was, she had been starting to enjoy it, too. She was angry when Ron returned, just for that reason alone. Even if she hadn't wholly recognised that at the time. Her brain pulled that piece of trivia out just for good measure. She'd suppressed the real reason for her anger, for how it had spoiled the closeness she and Harry were beginning to enjoy again. Ron had returned, Harry retreated back to where she used to keep him, and she missed it painfully when he was gone. Ron was nowhere near adequate as a replacement.

But Harry had accepted it. He was convinced of her preference to Ron, so he hadn't challenged her. Oh, how blind had she been! Or how cowardly for settling for second best. A red-headed consolation prize. Harry had still needed her, and she'd withdrawn from him when his necessity was greatest. It formed an icy wall between them that grew and grew, so much so that Harry didn't come to her before marching off to face Voldemort. She would _never_ have let that happen, had she been there. She would have talked him down. Perhaps he knew that, too. That of all the people he couldn't deny, she alone had the power of persuasion over him.

But Hermione hadn't been there. And it was just blind luck that she hadn't lost him right then.

She stifled a sob at the image. Of losing her love to Voldemort before she'd even known it. It had been so close to happening. How could she have allowed that? She'd never felt more ashamed of herself. It wasn't much better that she maintained her distance afterwards. That she allowed herself to be swept up in Ron and his puppy-like affection for her, abandoning Harry when he was falling apart. Her heart ached painfully at the thought.

Hermione wanted to jump up and run to Harry that very moment, to hug him tight and say as many sorry's as she could manage, hoping he'd accept just one of them and forgive her for such a horrendous lapse. She so loved hugging Harry, she always had. She could still feel the ghost of his embrace by the lake that morning. She'd never felt anything like it. So loving, so intimate, so gentle. What she'd give for more of that! That had to tell her something. She had to know, had to act...

But just then her bedroom door opened.

Her mother walked in with two mugs of tea and a tray of biscuits. She'd forgotten she'd gone to get them. Hermione scowled only a little at the idea of putting upon the school elves again, but scooted aside so her mother could sit next to her on the bed. She took her tea gladly. It was something normal in her flipped-upside-down world.

"Thanks," she said, blowing the hot liquid. "Where's Dad? Is he still here?"

"Yes, he's with Harry."

"Harry?" asked Hermione. She sat up, taut. Her change in demeanour was not missed by Catrin, but she didn't press it, which Hermione was grateful for.

"Yes, he's giving your father a tour of the castle," Catrin explained. "Showing him your stomping grounds. He's such a sweet boy, you know. I'm quite taken with him."

Hermione could only smile into her tea. She couldn't hide it. The difference between this and her mother's opinions of Ron…they might as well have been night and day.

"I know he is, Mum."

"He cares for you so much, I don't know if you've noticed," said Catrin. She cast Hermione a shrewd, sideways glance and took a biscuit. Hermione felt her heart spin like an uncontrolled Catherine Wheel. "When you were, well, _asleep_ , he never left your side. Did you know? Not unless he really had to. And only then for the briefest of time."

"Didn't he?" said Hermione. Smiling broadly and allowing herself to blush crimson. "I'll have to tell him to take a bath then."

"Hermione!"

"Mum, I'm joking," said Hermione lightly.

"What I'm saying," Catrin continued, "is that he is clearly devoted to you. That doesn't come around very often, honey."

"I'm not sure about _that_ , Mum," said Hermione, her blush deepening yet further. "And I don't see how you can be, either. I know Harry much better than you do."

"Maybe you are too close to see it," said Catrin. "He was so angry at Mr and Mrs Weasley when they were here. Even I was taken aback. You set something off in him. That much is obvious."

Hermione couldn't think straight. The idea of Harry defending her from everyone pushed her heart to yet more motion.

"Don't you feel anything but friendship for him?" Catrin pushed. "You must be attracted to him. He's a very handsome boy. If I was twenty-five years younger I'd be all over him like a rash!"

"Mum! You cant say that!"

"Well, I just did. But don't tell your Dad. He gets very jealous."

"I don't think I want to have this conversation," said Hermione awkwardly.

"Okay, fine," said Catrin, smirking at her daughter. "All I'm saying is that Harry is a lovely boy and he seems to be in your thrall. You're a fool if you don't do anything about it. And I know you aren't a fool, sweetheart."

Hermione took a breath and looked cautiously at her mother. A shy smile pinched at her eyes, tugged at the corners of her mouth. Understanding flared between them and they mirrored beaming expressions. "I…I think I want to," she began nervously. "I think I've always liked Harry. But…he's always been unattainable."

"Has he? Or have you made him that way?"

"Aren't I right to? I mean…look at me. Compared to him. What chance do I have?"

"All I see is my beautiful, smart, kind little girl," said Catrin placatingly. They'd had this discussion many times before. "But I'm biased. You're just making assumptions, and putting yourself down. As you _always_ do. Has Harry ever said he doesn't find you attractive?"

"Well…not in so many words, no," said Hermione. "But he has never said he _does_ either."

"And do you really think that physical beauty is all that matters? We raised you better than that. Harry doesn't strike me as so vacuous."

"No, he isn't," said Hermione. "He's a brave, kind, sweet sort. And very loyal."

" _Ideal_ boyfriend material, then," said Catrin, smiling again.

"If _you're_ so keen on Harry, perhaps you should ask him out!" Hermione teased.

"Oh, I think he'd turn me down," said Catrin simply. "I barely know the boy, but its obvious his heart belongs to someone else already. Besides, I don't think your father wouldn't approve of a fling with a younger man, do you!"

"Mum!"

Catrin waved a hand to silence Hermione.

"All I'm saying is that Harry cares for you very, very deeply. Everyone can see that. I _like_ seeing it. The way he looks at you with such adoration. Its lovely to see such a nice boy look at my little girl like that. He has my blessing, that's all I'll say about it."

Hermione couldn't comprehend the discussion. Her mother's certainty over Harry's affection was jarring. But could she be right? Hermione dearly wanted to believe she was. She sipped her tea, marvelled at the possibilities. Did Harry really care for her as her mother so confidently asserted? Hermione couldn't entirely dismiss it. She'd seen enough in Harry's eyes to suggest it herself. They way he smiled at her, the glow it diffused over his features when he looked at her, the way his expression waxed in her presence. _She_ did all that to him. This she couldn't deny.

"Do…do you really think that Harry likes me that much?" she asked girlishly.

Catrin settled back on the pillows and fixed her daughter with a warm gaze. "I think it goes far beyond _like_ , honey. I don't think I've ever seen such intensity in one person's eyes before, as I've seen when he looks at you. And Harry is a pretty intense young man, isn't he? There's a fire there, a warmth, a very raw sort of passion. And its all for you. No, I think Harry much more than _likes_ you. How much more, well, only he could say."

Hermione sincerely hoped that one day, perhaps one day very soon, Harry would do just that. The concept made her unspeakably, deliriously blissful. For now, she was content to sit and nurse her rapidly cooling tea, with her mother sat in complicit silence alongside her. Neither needed to speak. Both Granger women were scheming in their minds, plotting a way to the ending they both now yearned for. Hermione, for her part, was directing her mind towards this most perplexing of problems. Getting Harry. But she was on a mission now, set to task. She and Harry had enjoyed enough moments to be hopeful of success. There was plenty to be positive about.

And the next moment they shared, could be the most fabulous one of all.


	15. Phoenix Rising

Harry pushed open the door to the Head Common Room. He couldn't think of a better name for it, so that would have to do. He actually kicked the door open, once he'd somehow manoeuvred the door handle down. With his knee, no less. He was actually quite pleased with himself for the achievement. His hands were out of action, already occupied, weighed down with an armful of heavy textbooks.

"Harry! Its about time! I thought you'd forgotten the way."

"Excuse me, this is my third trip up and down those stairs," Harry protested. "You try doing this without magic."

"I have, for seven years," Hermione pointed out. "Just because you never checked any books _out_ of the library..."

"I would have, but you had them all!"

Hermione poked her tongue out at him, so adorably cute that Harry ached at the sight. It stilled his grouchiness in a heartbeat.

"I offered you my satchel. Just because _kittens aren't your thing_...its not my fault."

Harry frowned down at Hermione, who was smirking up at him from one of the couches in the room. She already had a ring of open books around her. They looked like paper satellites to Planet Hermione. There were yet more on the table, haphazardly stacked, most with rolls of parchment tucked between pages and trailing to the floor.

Harry was overwhelmed by the sight. It was as if Hermione was trying to catch up on all her subjects at once. And there were a few.

"Is there any subject you _aren't_ taking?" Harry asked wearily, as he tipped his latest armful of books into a spare armchair.

"Careful with those!" Hermione shrieked. "Some of these volumes are ancient!"

"I think _you'll_ be ancient by the time you get through this lot," said Harry waving his hand at what looked like half the library dotted around the room. "You are allowed time off, you know. You were badly injured."

"That's no excuse," said Hermione curtly. She began chewing the end of her quill. "I may not be able to move properly just yet, but that doesn't mean I can be idle. I've missed enough classes already. I'll be so behind."

Harry shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "Anything I can help with?"

Hermione looked over at him, smiled shyly. "Just be here with me. Keep me company."

"I can do that," Harry replied. He quelled a nervous flutter. "But wait - are you trying to say I _can't_ help you? Or do you just not want me to. I'm not that bad, you know."

"Of course you're not," said Hermione lightly, not quite meeting his eye. "Homework proficiency's not high on your skill set though, is it?"

Harry wanted to argue, but he didn't want to lie to Hermione. She was right, of course. But he wasn't the kind to give up so easily.

"Come on, try me," Harry challenged. "I might surprise you."

Hermione cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyes. "I'm suspicious."

"Why?"

"You, that's why," said Hermione, studying him. "Wanting to help me with my homework. Its the wrong way round. What are you up to?"

"I don't know where the trust went between us," said Harry, shaking his head in mock indignation. "I'm not up to anything. I take it back. I'm too hurt to help you now. I don't know...you try and do something nice for an invalid..."

Hermione made a face at him. Harry smirked back. "My body's broken, Harry, but my mind's as sharp as ever. Your forget how well I know you...hmmm. Fine. I still say this is shady, but if you really want to help, lets see what you know."

Harry sat up, and crossed his legs beneath him on the opposite couch to Hermione.

"Hit me."

"Okay...Ancient Runes first," said Hermione. "What do you know about the sowilo rune, apart from the fact that it matches your scar?"

"Does it match my scar? Let me see."

Hermione handed him the textbook. Harry looked at the image.

"Oh yeah, it does look like my scar," Harry agreed. "Weird. That's actually the first thing I know about that rune. About any rune actually. Sorry, you're on your own with that one."

Hermione grinned at him. "Let's try Potions instead. Any idea of the brewing schedule for the antidote to a vampire bite?"

"There's an antidote to a vampire bite? I didn't know that."

"I take it you don't know how to make it then, either?" said Hermione. She looked like she was fighting not to laugh. She was making this hard on purpose.

"No,but I bet it has to be done at night."

"Actually, you're right about that bit. The potion has to be infused with moonlight as a binding agent. I'm impressed."

"See, told you," said Harry sitting back smugly and linking his hands behind his head. "When it comes to moonlight binding things as an infusing agent, I'm all over it."

"Uh-huh," said Hermione, still fighting that giggle. "If you could be a doll and catch some moonlight for me later that'd be a big help, thanks."

"Er...sure, no problem," said Harry. How was he supposed to catch moonlight? Oh...wait.

"That was just a joke, wasn't it?"

"I'm only playing, Harry, don't be too mad with me," said Hermione.

"You know what, I'm going to find a way to catch some moonlight, just for you," said Harry grumpily. "Just to prove you wrong. Don't ask me how...but watch this space."

"I look forward to it," said Hermione. "It'd be nice to have a jar of moonlight for myself! But I think you'd better leave the homework to me."

Harry harrumphed and gave in. He was more of a hindrance than a help.

"Good job I can still fetch and carry for you, isn't it? Its nice to have a use in life."

"You have plenty of uses, Harry, as you well know."

"But your favourite is having me as a slave."

"I could get used to it, that's true," said Hermione, blushing furiously and looking steadfastly down at the scroll in front of her.

Harry didn't know how to rightly answer that. So he stayed silent. It was quite nice, just sitting there, not speaking. The only sound the occasional scratch of Hermione's quill on the parchment. He looked at her. He found it very difficult to take his eyes off her, actually. She was back to where she was most happy, most comfortable, and it made Harry strangely contented to just sit there and watch.

But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

He was plotting. Scheming away in his mind. He was going to tell her how he felt about her. He'd determined on that now. He couldn't go on feeling what he did and not knowing if she might return the sentiment. If there was a chance that wonderful, glimpsed future he'd seen could come true, it had to start somewhere. So Harry was going to do it. It wasn't sure how, but he was pretty set on the _when_.

Hermione's birthday. Tomorrow.

It had come around awfully fast since he'd made the decision. He thought if he gave himself a set date it would stir him to action. He just hadn't expected the last couple of days to fly past so quickly. It was so nerve-searingly close now. And Harry still had no idea what he was going to do.

He had never asked a girl out before, not with premeditated cognition. Not with thinking time. He had just blurted it out at Cho. He didn't want to think about Ginny. Neither were the same. And, in any case, he hadn't been _in love_ with either of them. This was Hermione. His sweet, wonderful, beautiful best friend, who he now desired so much it hurt. That made this so much different, and so infinitely more frightening.

But he had to do it.

He didn't know how much longer he could stand not being with Hermione. It was all he could do to not just out and grab her, hug her silly, kiss her breathless. He had toyed with the idea of doing just that on her birthday. It had its merits as a plan. It covered all the bases, made it pretty obvious what he wanted. And if _she_ wanted it, it would be a nice present for her.

Which brought him to other possible courses of action. Make it obvious in the gift he bought her. His conversation with Catrin in Diagon Alley had given him that idea. His thoughts on this ranged from vaguely suggestive costume jewellery, to the downright extreme of buying her an engagement ring. That seemed a step far, and the jangle of Harry's nerves at the concept of marrying Hermione robbed him of his senses for several hours.

She looked up at him at that moment. Her gaze was penetrating. For a wild, fleeting second he wondered if she knew what was on his mind. She had a habit of doing that, Harry had noticed. Just looking at him at random moments. He felt a deep swell in his chest that he could distract her from homework just by being there. This was some power, indeed.

"How are you feeling now, Harry?" When he looked questioningly at her and didn't answer she went on, "I know you had another nightmare last night. I heard you get up."

Oh, she knew about that did she? Harry was embarrassed. He thought he'd gotten away with it. He didn't want Hermione to know he was still suffering.

"You should have come to me," she continued. "This is too much to deal with on your own."

Harry turned his eyes to the floor. "I didn't want to wake you. My problems shouldn't be your burden."

Hermione sighed crossly and put her quill down. Harry glanced up at the movement.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you aren't alone in this? I'm here for you. Right here. You can't hide from me, Harry. Not anymore. Your problems are my problems now."

Harry looked up and scrunched his eyes at her. What did she mean by that?

"You know I appreciate that," said Harry. "But you do enough for me during the day. These dreams are horrible. I won't let them disturb your nights, too."

"You don't get it, do you? They already _do."_

Harry looked hard at her. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed it?" asked Hermione. "Or maybe it isn't the same for you..."

"What isn't?"

"I've just noticed, ever since the phoenix ritual, that I sort of, _sense_ you more. Haven't you felt it? Its not like mind-reading, so don't fret about me suddenly knowing your deepest, darkest secrets. But I pick up on your moods better now. I feel them myself, in a way. Especially when your emotions are particularly strong, like when you have nightmares. I know what you're going through, so there's no use trying to pretend with me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were being affected like that," said Harry, ashamed. "I had to put some of my magic into you during the ritual. I suppose I didn't think it would connect us so blatantly. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," said Hermione. Her voice was soft, but her words firm and unyielding. Harry felt his heart skip a few beats as they exchanged an intense, blazing look

"You-you're not?" Harry stammered.

Hermione shook her head, smiled beautifully at him. Harry felt like he should look away. But he didn't. He held her gaze steadily, forcing his eyes to lock onto hers. Maybe he could tap into this new connection himself. Perhaps he could know for sure...

"I quite like knowing how you're feeling," Hermione said. "For good or bad. I've gotten quite fond of it. I'd miss it if it were gone, that's for sure. Its comforting."

Harry scoffed. "You clearly haven't seen my dreams, then. Comforting isn't the word I'd use."

Hermione looked seriously at him now. Her expression stony and stolid.

"Harry - I want you to promise me something, right here and now. Whenever you have one of these nightmares, you'll come right to me. If I'm not awake, wake me. I'll be cross with you if I find out you haven't. I don't mind you simply slipping into bed with me either, if it will make you feel better."

Harry's heart flipped. What the hell did she just say? Harry felt his jaw fall open. Hermione's gaze didn't flinch. She wasn't joking.

"But...but what if I'm far away?" Harry somehow managed to say. His mouth had gone arid.

"I'll just have to not allow you to be. I've neglected you once before, I'll not do it again, I promise you that. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I think you're better."

"And if that takes years?"

Hermione smiled at him again. "Then it takes years. And now, thanks to Solaria over there, I'll know when that time comes."

The baby phoenix chirruped from her nest, as if in concordance. Harry, it seemed, had little say in the matter.

"You're taking on a hell of a lot, you do know that?" said Harry warningly.

"Of course I do," said Hermione gently. "Shall we seal it with an Unbreakable Vow? Will that convince you how serious I am?"

"No...no, I believe you," said Harry.

Shaking, he stood up and crossed the room to her. Hermione looked up at him warily, chewing her bottom lip, curious as to what he was doing. He knelt on the floor beside her. His blood was throbbing in his ears. They held a trembling gaze. Quickly, before his courage failed him, Harry slid his arms around Hermione's neck and drew her tenderly towards him.

"Thank you," he breathed into her hair. Merlin did she smell good. "I wish I wasn't so weak, so bloody broken. I wish that I was stronger, so that you didn't have to...I wish I...I wish I didn't need you so much. But I do. Thank you for being here for me."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered back. Her hands had slipped up and around his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here."

She turned her head into his chest, nuzzling her bushy crown under his chin. Harry was delirious. He didn't want to move. But now wasn't the time. It wasn't in the plan. He didn't want his confession to be tainted, provoked by his darkness. He drew away slowly. Hermione loosened her grip reluctantly. Harry almost gave in and maintained the hold.

"Will you sit by me while I work?" Hermione asked breathlessly. "You're too far away to talk to sat all the way over there."

Harry grinned. "If you like. I'll try not to think too much in case it distracts you. Which one of these massive books is the most boring?"

"Shut up, Harry," said Hermione, swatting at him playfully.

She scooped up a book from the couch and patted the now vacant cushion beside her. Harry climbed up. They were pressed tight together as they relaxed back against the couch. Harry, with a jolt of electric thought, realised he could see down the top of Hermione's robe from this angle. He struggled hard not to look, but that shadowy curve was just visible and it was so enticing...

"You okay, Harry?"

"What...yeah, fine. Why?"

"Don't know. Just had a weird... _spike_ inside _._ Don't think that's my emotion. It must be you."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm reading about Ancient Runes," Hermione replied. "Its not exactly stirring stuff. Besides, I always know when its you and not me."

"Tell me."

Hermione put down her book and looked up at Harry thoughtfully. His eyes flew up to her face. He was confident she hadn't caught him.

"Its just a different sort of sensation," said Hermione. "I've always known how my own feelings, well, _feel,_ but its got a different tone when they're yours. It's really intense. Do you always feel like that? That strongly?"

"Depends what its about, I suppose," Harry replied. "I've never thought my feelings were particularly strong, no different to anyone else's anyway. I know I get angry and passionate sometimes, but everyone does. I think I know what you mean, though. I always knew when Voldemort was feeling particularly evil. They were my feelings, but not. I could tell the difference."

"I suppose what we've done is sort of the same, isn't it?" Hermione mused. "Voldemort gave you a bit of his power, now you've given me a bit of yours."

"At least I didn't have to curse you and kill your parents to do it," said Harry bitterly.

"Ooh Harry! I _felt_ that! Wow...that's...that's...what is it?"

"Dark? Hatred tends to be."

"Wow, Harry...is-is that what you've been carrying around with you all this time? Oh my word! You poor thing! I can't have that. He's gone now. You're with me. You're safe, you know that don't you? You don't have to feel like that any more. I'll look after you, you can..."

Her words tailed off. She was looking at him such such intense gentility it left Harry in no doubt what she was feeling now. For a new emotion was swelling and surging through him. If this connection was as strong as she said, she'd know...

Hermione looked away suddenly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It drew Harry's eyes back to the neck of her robes. The increased movement made everything a little more exposed. Harry really wished he had the composure to look away. If Hermione worked out that, too, he'd be done for.

"I...I really didn't know you were being affected so much by my moods," said Harry quietly. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder to contain them. I'm pretty good at it by now."

"No, Harry...please don't. Don't shut me out. I - I don't want you to. Its just... _new,_ that's all. Good new, though. If you know what I mean."

"How can feeling my anger, my rage be good?" cried Harry sardonically. "My demons are anything but good."

"That wasn't demonic...what I just felt, Harry," said Hermione. She looked up at him so warmly his face felt on fire. "That was... _beautiful._ Feel that again for me. Whatever you were thinking when you felt that...think it again. It was incredible."

Harry needed only think three words. And in twenty-four hours time, he was actually going to say them to her.

* * *

Hermione lay in bed for hours that night. She was too energised to sleep. She should have been exhausted. She'd gotten through twelve rolls of parchment during her marathon day of homework catch -up. Her wrist ached from all the writing. She had been astonishingly productive and, for her, that was saying something. But she couldn't really remember a single word she had written. It might have been utter drivel. She might have to toss the whole thing in the fire tomorrow and start again.

But if that meant a repeat of this day with Harry, she would do it happily.

She had been vaguely away of this new link to him ever since she'd woken from the effects of Ginny's curse. It was like a dull hum in the back of her mind every time she was around him. But, as she grew steadily better, she found the connection getting stronger with her. She studied it in quiet moments when she could look at Harry without him noticing. She needed to explore and examine it if she was to properly understand, and it was harder when he was looking at her. His eyes were too pretty. They distracted her.

But, whether she was delving into it or not, the link was getting more pronounced, clearer. And Hermione was feeling it from further away. She was getting used to how it felt, compared to her own emotions. It had a different vibration almost. At first it was jarring to have Harry's emotions inside her, but now she couldn't imagine being without them. She hadn't been lying when she said it was comforting. She loved having a part of him always with her. It felt familiar, even after such a short space of time. She already recognised it as easily as the sound of his voice or his scent, and every time she did it stirred her heart and made every single inch of her skin tingle.

But boy did his mood's vary, from one extreme to the other. And so often, too. It didn't take much for Harry to lurch from one sensation to the next, it would seem. The abruptness often caught Hermione off guard, like missing a step on the stairs. It was startling. She didn't know how he managed to stay so sober with such drunken movements hitting him so randomly.

And then there was the intensity. Wow! Harry didn't do anything by halves, did he? It was a case of go hard or go home where his emotions were concerned. He hated so powerfully, so fundamentally. Hermione was even a little scared of that. When he'd thought of Voldemort...that was almost enough to tear strips from her own body. Such acidity. She knew Harry hated him, of course she did, but she had never fully appreciated the depth of it. She didn't think her Harry was capable of such pure detestation, that anyone was. He was kind and sweet, brave and loyal, and all sorts of good. But that darkness...it was its equal and more.

It made her step back a moment.

_Ok, so that's there_ , she thought to herself, _inside him_. She weighed it, measured it and accepted it in one breath. It changed nothing for her. She would help him deal with it. She would so not allow him to carry that around forever. She wouldn't stand for it. It was gnawing at him like a huge parasite. She'd felt it squirming around as the abhorrence of Voldemort's memory passed through his system. Poor Harry! She would rid him of it. She swore to herself she would.

But then there were the other emotions, at the other end of the scale. Merlin had they been powerful, too! If that was what Harry felt for _her,_ which she was happily telling herself it was, then she could scarcely comprehend it. She knew how she felt for him. She knew this was love. It was more powerful than any emotion she could ever remember having.

But it seemed to be dwarfed by that surge of emotion she'd felt from Harry.

That didn't sit well with her. She loved him more than anything. She'd only admitted it two days ago but she'd never been more certain of anything in her life. To think he felt _even more_ for her made her slightly cross. She was the girl. She was supposed to feel emotions more keenly. But this was Harry with his ridiculous intensity. How could she hope to compete, really. His life had been so extreme, it followed logically that he would love in much the same way.

And it seemed undeniable now that he loved her.

Hermione thought her head might fall off at the notion. She had tried all day to cling to her last niggle of doubt, like it was some irrational safety blanket. But she was losing her grip on the denial. How _could_ she deny it any longer? She'd felt it so powerfully, and for so long. It hadn't wavered. When she'd asked Harry to pull the emotion back, so she could share it, he did it almost instantly. It hit her as quickly as the dark wave that accompanied the mention of Voldemort and his parents' murder - and overwhelmed her nearly as much. But he'd held it there, as he'd held himself to her.

For they had stayed touching for hours. She couldn't believe it when Harry hugged her. As much as she loved hugging him, she was hard pressed to remember a time when he was the one who initiated one. Especially when she excluded the times she was in mortal danger which, she thought sadly, accounted for about half of them. Harry hugged _back,_ never hugged _first._ Until that very afternoon downstairs. And after the hug had broken, Harry had sat right next to her. The couch was full of books, but surely that didn't account for Harry sitting so close. So close that their thighs were pressed firmly together. If Hermione had shifted just right she would probably have ended up sitting in his lap. But neither had made any attempt to change the seating arrangements. For hours.

They had both been so comfy just as they were, it would seem.

Hermione still couldn't believe she had just out and told him he could hop into bed with her any time he wanted, either. That was brazen of her. She meant it as a sort of open invitation for when he was vulnerable, but she would be happy for him to take her up on the offer whenever he liked. If he liked. Which she was now sure he did. She remembered how his mouth had fallen open at the offer. She almost laughed out loud at the sight. But he didn't complain, or say it was inappropriate. Just pointed out certain logistical issues. Typical Harry.

Merlin they were being silly about all this.

Hermione giggled to herself. She felt like she was fourteen again and first smitten with Harry. This sort of behaviour might have been acceptable then. But they were adults now, forced to grow up quicker, too, on the account of the cards life had dealt them. Why couldn't they just deal with this sensibly? She knew full well why, but the issue of the Weasleys annoyed her, her own stupidity on that score a source of personal chagrin. And then there were Harry's internal struggles, and her own insecurities. But they'd be banished at a stroke when they got together.

For that was so going to happen. And soon. It wasn't even a case of _if_ in her mind anymore.

Hermione felt it like she was waiting to ride a wave on the ocean. She was eager for the moment to arrive, she yearned for it. This ache for Harry was ensconced deep in her very bones. If she didn't do something about it soon she feared it would drive her mad. She didn't feel it was a million miles away as it always had been. It was just on the horizon, coming now into sharp focus. The last few days had proven that.

For something had undoubtedly changed between them since the phoenix ritual, that was certain. They had been drawn closer. Physical space between them was something to be abhorred, removed if at all possible. Harry was taking the lead on that score, which both surprised and pleased Hermione. He was all too keen to ferry her around on the floating chair, and she felt sure it was just so he could touch her when lifting her to and from it. The way he trembled and his skin grew red hot was testament to that. And he'd hugged her twice over the past few days. That was the loveliest thing. But he _was_ the boy and, like most boys, he was physically-driven, Boy Who Lived nonsense or not.

She knew enough of _that_ from where she'd caught him staring down her top, earlier.

Hermione knew she should be scandalised, for Harry to have objectified her so blatantly. But she found she didn't mind in the slightest. It made her skin blush all over, but it was a pleasant sensation, one she'd happily experience again. In fact, she truly hoped she would. It was the absurdity of it that struck her, really. To think that Harry Potter was openly staring at her boobs was just a ridiculous idea. It made her belly laugh as she thought about it. But as her laugh died, she thought about something else. And it made her head spin.

It must mean that Harry _fancied her_...that he thought of her _sexually._

Wow, that made Hermione sit up. Her attention pinched. She had accepted that Harry might love her, that he was emotionally attracted to her. But physically - for some reason, she'd ruled that out, separated the two. Now she was forced to pair them back together. She was hardly anyone's idea of sexy. She'd put back on the weight she'd lost after the Horcrux hunt. The lack of decent sustainance for all those months had left her more wiry than she liked, but she wasn't exactly toned or athletic now. The idea worried her. Harry seemed to have a type - the Cho and Ginny mould. Hermione was neither of them. Concern crinkled her brow.

_Stop being stupid_ , she said to herself. _He spent the afternoon staring at your boobs, didn't he? He must have liked them._

Hermione was cheered at the thought. Buoyed by it. To think that Harry physically desired her made her feel rather dreamy. Of course, she fancied the arse off of _him_. He was practically edible. And she'd start with that arse when she got her hands on it. Fucking firm as a peach. Yummy. She could crack walnuts between those cheeks. Maybe it was a bit kinky to start with that sort of thing, though.

The idea stirred between her thighs. She was tempted to indulge a fantasy or two. But Harry was too close. If he needed her during the night, it wouldn't do for him to walk in and find her pleasuring herself. Or maybe that might be the ultimate tonic for him. A sexy little show to take his mind off more sinister things. Hermione was running red hot with these thoughts, in high aroused gear. But she checked herself.

Then she was startled by a sudden rush of emotion she recognised immediately as coming from Harry.

The distance of their bedrooms seemed nothing to their connection now. The previous night, Hermione only knew Harry was up and about as he entered the washroom connected to the communal area. It was closer to Hermione's side. She heard him before she felt that sickening wave of anguish coursing through him. Her heart had bled at the sensation and she dearly wanted to go to him. But by the time her body started responding to her commands and she pulled herself gingerly out of bed, she could feel Harry moving away.

But now, she could feel him from his _room._ It was faint, not nearly as strong as when she was curled up to his chest earlier, but she knew it was him. She rather fancied that the strength of Harry's emotions might carry when they were especially potent. And this one was. She tried to focus on it, to see which one it was.

For she was developing a sort of system for them, to help her decipher Harry's feelings. She was assigning colours to them. When Harry had felt that insanely powerful burst of love - _burst of love for you_ , she amended - she felt it as a wave of pink. She couldn't have said why, but it fit. The anger was green. But this didn't feel like either of them. The closest colour she could approximate it to was the one which accompanied that odd sort of _spike_ of emotion she'd felt earlier, when she'd caught Harry looking at her boobs. She'd felt that as a sort of red, or reddish-purple.

Was that his _lust_? Was that was that was?

If it was, it was certainly strong right now. What did that mean? Was he dreaming? She shuddered at the thought. Harry, so very close by, in the throes of feral passion. It made her throb incessantly down below. Then she had a sobering thought. What if he'd somehow felt _her_ emotion? She'd been fantasising chronically about him just as she felt this surge from his room. Maybe he had picked up on it. She obsessed a moment on what he might think about it.

Hermione couldn't deny being slightly disappointed that he hadn't felt the phoenix connection in the way she did. But then again, she thought, he has had a lot more on his mind just lately. She'd shared enough of his jumbled emotions to accept he might not notice a new source of confusion in his overly fraught system. He was consumed by darkness, then light, then more dark again on a daily basis.

It was simpler for her. Her mind hadn't been assaulted in the past the way Harry's had. From the literal assaults of Snape and Voldemort, to the more subtle attacks of the Dursleys and even his peers within the school. He really had been through the mill, when you broke it down. It pulled at Hermione's heart to consider it. Her poor, wounded love! It depressed her greatly to think of all his suffering. She felt guilty that she'd held this one thing against him, even though she only now realised she was doing it.

Maybe he would feel it more keenly once his fractured psyche was healed. That was something to hope for. She truly wished she could find a way to communicate her feelings for him in as potent a way as she now felt his for her. He was bound to be doubtful, cautious. Love was fragile in his world, hatred and anger a much more visceral set of forces. She would have to make it robust for him, something he couldn't deny. Knowing more about how these sorts of bonds worked would certainly help. She made a note in her brain for another topic of research in the coming days.

But for now, she was focused solely on the feeling she was getting from Harry. The one thing she wished was that she could get details of the emotion, without having to obviously ask. Harry had mentioned Voldemort, his mood soured. Hermione had made her pledges to him, to be there for him, and he bowled her over with that flood of affection that had her name all over it. But to be able to accurately identify the thoughts behind the emotion would be something else. It would help now, for example.

For Hermione couldn't shake the idea that it was lust she was feeling from Harry. It was one of those things that just felt true. The problem was, she didn't know what was causing it. Harry could be fantasising about anything, or more irksomely, _anyone._ She felt possessively jealous at the thought. If she had greater insight, maybe she would stop being so irrational. Harry _had_ been ogling her that day. That thought might still be in his mind somewhere. Maybe he was reliving it, elaborating on it. If only there was some sort of magic to see his thoughts...

Hermione's breathing hitched? Dare she? It was such a violation, she couldn't possibly...

But she was heaving herself up and reaching for her wand before she could stop herself. It seemed to take an age to cross her room and limp downstairs. Each step was an ordeal. It was so much easier when Harry had helped her to bed earlier. The time gave her opportunity to think. She couldn't do this. Harry would flay her if he knew she planned to try using Legilimency on him in his sleep. But she still couldn't stop moving towards his room. It was like she was being Accio'd.

The handle to the room turned easily, the door opened silently. It all seemed fated. Hermione tiptoed inside. Her eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom but she eventually picked out Harry's head from the shadows. She looked at his eyes where a sliver of moonlight fell across them. They were soundly shut. Hermione allowed herself to breathe. She crossed to the bed, her socks muffling any sound she might have made on the carpet.

She studied Harry's face in the moonlight. He was really quite gorgeous, her mother was right. Right now, his expression was relaxed and serene. His dream must be a good one. He was muttering lowly. Hermione couldn't make out what he was saying. But he was laying resolutely still. A flutter of sordid disappointed slicked across Hermione's brain. What had she been hoping to see? She mentally cuffed herself.

"Hermione..."

Harry's voice rang out, suddenly clear. Hermione froze, stiff as a board. She glanced down. Harry was still asleep. He hadn't moved. But he'd said her name...

And his emotion hadn't changed. Reddish-purple. Burning like an inferno.

Hermione held back a gasp. Whatever he was dreaming about, she was there. Her insides were fluid again.

"...don't care..." Harry murmured lustily. "...kids'll be back soon...ten minutes is plenty...ha ha...that tickles...he he...so naughty...ooohhh...ha ha..."

Hermione tried not to laugh at Harry's sleepy babbling. She wished she could see what he was seeing, _be_ the Hermione he was seeing. But she was struck with a sudden thought. What was that he was saying...about _kids_? _Their_ kids? Was he dreaming of some sort of future, where they were snatching saucy moments while their kids were elsewhere? She fell back at the idea.

She had seen it before, the memory rushed at her now. But she would attend to that in a while. For now she wanted to bask in this swirling energy. _Harry was dreaming of a time when they had kids!_ It was almost enough to send her mind into a tailspin. It was the final confirmation she needed. She wanted to cry out gleefully, but instead she backed away and edged from the room.

She had to think. It wasn't easy. The throb of Harry's pulsing emotion was reverberating through her, and now she knew what it was about. She knew, one hundred percent, that she was the cause of it. It set her world on fire. For all the doubts she'd ever had, for all the barriers that had ever flown up between them, Hermione was passionately assured of their destruction now. Despite everything that had conspired to keep them apart, of Ron and Ginny, of Voldemort and the War, all of it, Harry secretly dreamed of a day when he could be with her. When they'd have a family together.

It made Hermione want to screech for the joy of it.

She settled her fragile body into one of the squashy armchairs and curled up. It was if she was trying to knot herself into a ball of pure ecstasy. She didn't want to go back to bed, in case she fell asleep and found she'd dreamt all this. She threw her wand onto the table. It couldn't conjure anything as magical as that which she was feeling right now. She just hugged into herself, allowed that wonderful sensation of red-purple heat to flow over her, to envelope her.

Imagine how this would feel when Harry was actually here with her to share it, to enjoy it? When he was all over her, when they were tangled up together? Hermione couldn't picture that. It was too wonderful to even begin to dream up. The reality would be so much more than anything she could fabricate. She was going to do it. She was resolved. Maybe soon. No, definitely soon. Maybe tomorrow.

That made her shiver with restless excitement. Yes. Tomorrow. No excuses. She had all the facts she needed. Harry didn't. She had been too coy with him for too long. That was disgustingly shameful. But she had never imagined he'd fancy a bit of her, let alone dream of marrying her and starting a family with her. She wondered what their kids would _look_ like, what they'd be like.

Then she remembered that dream.

Had it been a dream? The recollections were startlingly visceral. Oddly real. She could only remember bits. There had been green tea involved. That was a bizarre thing to remember. But there had been children also. Two of them. Two girls. She strained to remember their names, but the fact eluded her. She could see their faces, the older one specifically. She had Harry's eyes, but her mass of hair. Hermione felt a pang of longing to see that little girl again.

She would. It may be years down the line, but she was determined to meet her daughter again. The very phrase set her heart to hammering. She was going to have children with Harry. They were going to be a mother and father, a husband and wife, too. She knew Harry loved her, that he wanted to be with her in the most intimate way. Forever. And she knew she loved him too. It raced anew through her fibres, empowered and with more force than she'd ever credited to it before. It was giving Harry's intensity a run for its money. She'd never loved anything as fiercely as she loved him right now. As she always would.

And, tomorrow, she'd tell him. He couldn't possibly refuse her.

Not on her birthday.


	16. Changing Status

"I'm not finished."

"Harry."

"Just a minute."

Harry hurried around with the dwindling taper. It was almost out. A wand and the _incendio_ spell would have make this child's play. He wished the breeze from the window would die down. It was making this harder.

"Harry...can I look now?"

"Open those eyes and I'll hex them shut for a month."

"Really? You and who's wand?"

She had a point. "Please, just keep them closed a moment longer...there! All done. You can open your eyes now."

So she did. And she beamed at him.

"Oh, Harry, this is lovely."

"Happy birthday," said Harry. "Sorry. You don't know how hard it is to stick candles into a bunch of croissants. They aren't made for it."

Harry looked down sadly at the tray in front of him. Coffee, orange and pumpkin juice, freshly baked bread, pancakes and croissants. With candles in them. Candles that were already lilting mutinously. It wasn't as flawlessly crafted as Harry had pictured in his mind.

Hermione smiled at him warmly. "That doesn't matter, Harry. I wasn't expecting breakfast in bed! Thank you."

"Well, it is your birthday. Make a wish then."

"Only if you'll come and sit with me."

Hermione smiled again, and patted the bed next to her. Harry felt his insides shudder nervously. He did as he was told, trying his best to keep the tray steady. Hermione leaned over him and blew out the candles. There was always one stubborn one. It took a few puffs to put out. Harry was fixated by the pout of Hermione's lips.

"What did you wish for?" he asked.

"I can't tell you that," said Hermione, her eyes dark and sparkling. "It might not come true."

"But maybe I can help..."

"Then I definitely don't want to risk it."

They held a look a moment. Soft smoke rose from the remnants of the candles. Hermione looked so pretty in the pale morning light. Harry had to hold back from out and snuggling into her.

"Coffee?" she suddenly asked, her skin tinged pink.

"Hey, its your birthday," said Harry. "I'll be the one spoiling you."

"I'm sure I can manage coffee, Harry," said Hermione. "Three sugars, isn't it? Two white, one brown?"

Harry started. "Yeah...how do you know?"

"I...I'm not sure," said Hermione, frowning. "I...I just do. I must have made you coffee at breakfast or something before."

"No, I never let anyone do that, 'cause of my weird sugar thing."

"Yeah, what's that all about?"

"I like the taste of brown sugar, but I need white sugar for sweetness, too," Harry explained.

"But you're sweet enough, already," Hermione poked.

"Ha ha, just make the coffee, Birthday Girl."

They sat there a while, eating their way through Hermione's breakfast as she opened presents from her parents and grandparents. Her favourite was a small silver otter, with pearly white gems as eyes, on a fine silver bracelet that her mother had bought her. She twirled it in her fingers, admiring the craft work.

"This really is rather pretty," she said, fussing over the eyes. "I wonder where she got it. Oh look, there's a card... let me see... _For Hermione, Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I bought this last minute on Diagon Alley. Harry mentioned that an otter protects you from darkness somehow...I didn't really understand all the magic, sorry! But the gems in the eyes are moonstones. They shine in the dark, I've seen it! Its beautiful. I hope they show you the way, if all other lights go out. Love Mum xx."_

Hermione looked over at Harry. She wore such a look of adoration that Harry felt the room heat up all of a sudden. He began bothering a loose seam on the quilt as Hermione continued to stare at him.

"Harry?"

He shrugged at her. "Your mum was looking for an idea. I told her books were safe ground, but she was determined. You know how she gets."

"But...the otter," said Hermione. "That's my Patronus. You remembered?"

"Of course," said Harry. "I was curious to see which animal was inside you. I like to know what's looking out for you. We agreed it was fitting."

"We? You were with my mum when she got this?"

"Yes. We started this before you were injured, but never got to finish it. The otter just jumped out at us. And, obviously, we had to get it with moonstone eyes. I said I'd catch moonlight for you. This is the best I can do at such short notice."

Harry heard Hermione's breath catch in her throat. He grinned to himself. He'd hoped that would happen. He hadn't counted on her next move, however. She suddenly threw her arms around his neck and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He felt it tickle and shimmy all the way down his skin right to his toes. He wiggled them at the sensation.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Harry soared. He pulled her back gently and resettled against the headrest of the bed.

"Now, you may notice that my present is missing," said Harry. "But I'm saving that for a bit later. It isn't much, so don't get too excited, but I'm hoping the day I've planned will make up for it."

"The day? I was going to try and get to some classes today, Harry," said Hermione. "I realised yesterday how far behind I was falling."

"You will do no such thing," said Harry firmly. "I've already cleared it with McGonagall. She's allowed you to take the day off. She even went around and charmed the classrooms to not let you in."

"Harry! Why...what are you up to?"

"I'm taking you out for the day," said Harry. "We are going to have a break from all the craziness around us and have a nice time for your birthday. Don't even think about arguing. After breakfast, once you're showered and changed, we'll head off."

"Where are you taking me?" asked Hermione, grinning girlishly.

"Its a surprise," said Harry. "I just hope you like it."

"I'm sure it'll be lovely," said Hermione. "I'll be with you, after all."

"I'm glad you think that," said Harry, colouring a little. "Because I'm not planning to share you with anyone else today. We wont be going anywhere with other people."

"That sounds just perfect," said Hermione, smiling broadly. "Come on. Lets get this cleared away so I can get ready."

"Ok, I'll just take this back to the kitchens and clean it up. I'm sure the elves will want to know how my baking went down."

"Your baking? Harry...did you make my breakfast yourself? From _scratch_?"

"Well, er, yes I did," said Harry, bashfully. "The elves tried giving me tips, but I remember how to cook. I was the Dursleys slave for a decade. Its hard to forget some things."

Harry tried to ignore the pained look on Hermione's face. He had to learn to control his emotions. He couldn't be always infecting her whenever his mood swung so violently.

"Did you enjoy it, that's the main thing?"

"Yes! It was delicious! You can cook for me any time you like."

Harry beamed at her. Cooking had always been a chore, a task carried out under the burden of the threat of punishment. But if this simple act could make Hermione happy, Harry thought he might just invest in a recipe book or two.

"Good, I'm glad. Now get ready. I'll meet you downstairs when you're done."

Harry gave Hermione a gentle smile, which she returned with sincere affection. He felt it hit him like a ray of sunshine breaking through clouds. It lit up his skin and he turned away to leave her to change. He smiled all the way to the kitchens.

The day had started well.

* * *

Hermione tested the shower. The temperature of the water always took a moment to even out in her en suite. This was a nice perk for the Head Girl to have such facilities, but they took a while to get going. Hermione slipped out of her pyjamas and underwear, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. She winced at the image. There was a deep, angry purple scar the length of her left side, from armpit to hip, where Ginny's curse had hit her. It was tender to the touch. She flinched as she gently massaged it, and wondered if it would ever fade.

She didn't think she could bear for Harry to see it.

She shook involuntarily at the idea, both excited and mortified by the concept. It would be quite the miserable thing, for on the first time Harry saw her naked he clocked his eyes on that ugly thing. She was still clinging to the last stubborn idea that he might find her ugly in all her nude glory in any case. That massive scar wouldn't help matters. She knew Harry, of all people, wouldn't judge her for a scar. But it was hardly conducive to romance, was it?

Hermione sighed. She was pacified by the idea that she was even considering this. That the notion of Harry seeing her naked was now a very real possibility in her life. Not even a possibility, but an inevitability. A _certainty_ , she hoped. And she had never hoped to be seen naked by anyone before. That was an entirely new sensation. It thrilled her as she stepped into the warm water. It was just typical of her lousy luck that she wasn't looking her best as she was on the cusp of this most intoxicating of outcomes coming true.

She wondered excitedly what Harry had planned for her. It set her heart to its, now familiar, fluttering that he had gone to any sort of trouble for her, let alone made all these arrangements to treat her to a nice day for her birthday. She didn't really care what they were going to do. Just being together would make it incredibly lovely. And as Harry had said it would be just the two of them all day...Hermione could think of nothing better.

And it made it that much more suitable for her own plans.

She gently soaped herself as she pondered her strategy. She stared across this terrifying abyss, considering the voyage. It was more daunting than anything she'd ever faced. But wildly enthralling just the same. She tried to calm her rapid nerves, but the flutter was now becoming a vigorous shake. It wouldn't do, but she couldn't help it. The idea was making her sway with the drunkenness of it.

For, by the end of the day, she hoped to be able to call herself Harry Potter's girlfriend.

On a scale of Monumental Statements this was numbers one, two and three. Her wired brain wouldn't stay still as this thought bounced around it. She wasn't accustomed to being this mindless, but the very mention of what she dearly hoped would be her new role sent her over the edge like nothing else could. She practically danced as she continued to wash, paying extra attention to her more private areas. Well, you never know. If it went that far, Hermione wasn't sure she'd have the restraint to be as conservative as she thought she ought.

It was Harry, after all, and she couldn't stand to deny him. Or herself, for that matter. This urge, this ache, within her had the potency of a rogue Bludger, and threatened just as much chaos. Poor Harry, he might be startled when this animal inside was released! Hermione felt it stalking around her loins, purring with the possibilities, growling lowly at the frustrations. She couldn't keep it caged for too much longer.

Then, her body ached in a different way, a far more negative way, just to remind her that she might not have been physically capable of much more than a session of heavy kissing. Hermione shrugged, she would happily settle for that. Her body would heal, and she'd make it up to Harry later for his understanding and patience. For he would definitely show her both. Then she'd show him all the things she'd ever researched in this area. And her list was alphabetical.

But that was for later. Hermione stepped from the shower and went to change. The choice of outfit was a conundrum. Demure? Hard to Get? Geek Chic? She settled on a full-length, floaty, periwinkle blue summer dress with a thin, white cotton cardigan and matching white shoes. She surveyed the effect. She looked quite cute, if she did say so herself. It was casual enough, but the dress had a square, Georgian-style neckline. It hinted at cleavage, and Harry had shown a liking for that before.

Hermione hoped he'd do a lot more looking today.

* * *

The students of Hogwarts were used to seeing Hermione Granger hanging off Harry Potter's arm. Over the last few days it had been hard to tell where one of them finished and the other began. While it was certainly true that Harry was helping his injured friend to move about the castle, there were many among the student body who openly wondered if their holds had to be so close, or so tender. There were long-term couples who didn't seem quite so intimate. It set tongues to wagging and soon the famed Hogwarts rumour mill was churning out a new theory about the star turns of the old castle.

Of course, these rumours weren't totally new, but many of the younger students had missed them the first time they appeared. Now they were stirred again, the new generation were relishing the opportunity to indulge in such exciting gossip. Yes there were existing Quidditch Captains dating Gobstones Champions, and some juicy stories about cross-school relationships, since a new pen-pal scheme had been introduced to encourage greater interaction with other magical educational institutions, but none of these came close, really.

For the stories of the Hero of the Second War shagging Hogwarts Brainiest Ever Witch were just too hot for some to handle.

Harry heard these rumours, and the whispers that drove them, bristling like wildfires as he met Hermione in the Entrance Hall. He paid them no mind. He had only just enough mental power to focus on Hermione as she joined him. She looked stunning and the vision left him breathless. He lost his mind a moment as she limped gingerly down the Main Staircase. He only recovered in time to rush and offer a shoulder for the last three steps.

Then the hushed whispers broke out.

"Thanks," said Hermione, throwing an arm around him and making him bear her weight. "That was tough."

"Sorry, I didn't think," said Harry. "Hermione...you look... _beautiful_...incredible...I..."

Harry stopped as words failed him. He just looked at her, drank her in. She beamed back at him.

"Oh, thank you, Harry! You look pretty good yourself. White shirt, black jacket...its a classic. And very suave."

Harry coloured deeply. He felt very poorly attired, and not worthy of having Hermione on his arm.

"So, are we going somewhere upmarket?" Hermione asked, leaning comfortably on Harry's arm as they walked out the castle.

"Not exactly," said Harry. "Certainly not somewhere that deserves to have you looking so great. We are starting off in Hogsmeade. Can you manage the walk, or shall I get one of the carriages?"

"Can I use you as a support frame?"

"For as long as you need."

"Then I'd like to walk."

So they did. The action drew them impossibly close, practically linked at the hip. It might not have been entirely necessary to be quite so close, but it worked for both of them. Soon they fell into easy stride with each other and chatted pleasantly as they walked. Hermione prompted Harry for info on his plans, he batted them away, and Hermione was reduced to using tricks and schemes to try and get Harry to slip up.

But Harry was made of sterner stuff. The first surprise came when they reached the village. Hermione made to strike out down the main high street, but Harry guided her down a path which led away from the familiar shops and taverns. She looked puzzled and Harry grinned at her. There was something adorable about that look of hers, the one that told her insatiable curiosity had been aroused. Harry would tell her one day just how attractive he found her intellect. He loved to see it at work.

"Where are we going, Harry?"

"You'll see. Give it a minute."

So she did. And a minute later she was wide eyed in curious surprise.

"The Hogwarts Express!" she exclaimed. "Are we going for a ride, Harry?"

"If you'll favour me with your company," Harry grinned. The gleaming scarlet steam engine stood proudly at the platform of Hogsmeade station. Smoke billowed from its chimney, floating back to the only carriage connected to the engine. It shone in the morning sunshine, reflecting the red and white flowers in the beds of the platform.

"Of course I will," Hermione beamed back. "But where are we going?"

"I'll tell you once we're aboard," said Harry. "Now, my lady, your carriage awaits."

Harry felt his heart swoop. Hermione had never looked so flattered. He was so pleased this part of the plan had worked. He knew the train held a special place in the hearts of many students, but Hermione had never shown an outward love of it. But, by the look in her eyes, she was positively relishing a private ride. He helped her step aboard the train and showed her into the carriage, which he had changed slightly

"Oh, _Harry!"_

"Do you like it?" he asked tentatively.

"Like it! I _love_ it!" Hermione squealed. She threw her arms around him and gave him a firm squeeze.

Harry felt the carriage heat up. He looked at his handiwork. The racks had been removed, as well as the usual benches. The walls had been charmed to look like a vast library, with rows of books stretching back into the distance. Two comfy armchairs sat either side of a circular oak table, upon which stood a long thin vase containing a single rose. A small box sat next to it. An exquisitely carved fireplace completed the scene. It gave off no heat, but the crackle and swoosh of crumbling logs gave the carriage a cosy feel.

"This is just _wonderful_ , Harry," Hermione squeaked.

"I'm glad you like it. I had a lot of help from Luna."

"Remind me to thank her later. Its fantastic!"

"Have a seat," said Harry. "I'm just going to speak to the driver."

Harry slipped from the carriage, ignoring yet another query about their destination. He returned a few minutes later, but not without grabbing yet another prop.

"Champagne, madam?" asked Harry, popping the magnum and pouring two glasses.

"Harry, isn't it a bit early for alcohol?"

"Not on your birthday," said Harry, handing her a glass. She took it, despite her protests moments earlier. The train hooted and began to roll out of the station. Harry raised his glass. "To you. Happy birthday."

"To me," said Hermione, clinking her glass against Harry's. They took a sip each. Then Hermione looked out of the window, her brow furrowed. "Er...Harry - the train's _going the wrong way._ "

"No it isn't," said Harry with a knowing grin. "We aren't going to London, Hermione. Haven't you ever wondered where the Express goes once it drops the students off?"

"Actually, no," said Hermione, the light of adventure in her eyes. "But now I'm fascinated."

"I'm glad about that," said Harry. "Because I found out it goes a _lot_ of places. I thought we could take a trip and see some."

"That sounds wonderful, Harry!" said Hermione eagerly. "I love steam trains."

"Really? So do I! How come we've never discussed that?"

"I suppose it had no reason to come up, did it?"

"What...apart from the fact a steam train delivered us to a world full of magic spells, potions, evil wizards oh...and each other?"

"Exactly, apart from that," said Hermione, smirking with a glint in her eye.

Harry shook his head. "Well, that's the plan for the start of the day. A toast...to eight years of being best friends. This is the carriage we met in, did you know? I remember it was the last one, Number 12."

"Wow! Is it really? You have gone to a lot of trouble, Harry. Thank you."

"Its nothing," said Harry, heat rising from his neck to his cheeks.

"It isn't _nothing_ ," said Hermione softly. "It really isn't."

She looked at him with tender sensuality, taking his hands in her own. Their eyes met, and some unconscious understanding suddenly flared between them. Harry felt on the verge of melting. He tilted his glass in her direction, then drank deeply.

So far, so good.

* * *

Hermione wasn't used to being pampered, let alone practically swept off her feet. She could hardly get her head around it. First breakfast in bed, then Harry arranging a private ride on the Hogwarts Express, including a champagne lunch complete with an array of cold meats, bread and cheeses, and strawberries to follow. Even the music was perfect. A soft soundtrack of Celtic violins permeated the carriage. It may have been coming from somewhere deep in the library Harry had enchanted onto the carriages walls for her. It mingled with the stunning views of the Scottish Lowlands, as they left behind the rugged landscape around Hogwarts and sped south. It was almost too much.

It was all so _romantic_.

But more than that, it was _her_ sort of romantic. Books and beautiful vistas and Celtic folk tunes. How did Harry know she liked _that_? She was sure she'd never mentioned it to him. He was good, but not even he could have guessed that. If it wasn't all so perfect she might have felt suspicious. But she wasn't about to ruin the mood. She simply basked in having such a wonderful time. She and Harry sat in amiable conversation, occasionally nibbling from the meat platter, moving onto a second bottle of champagne and enjoying the warm fuzziness the bubbly liquid was sending to her brain. It made her laugh more than she normally would, but Harry seemed to light up at the sound, so she was keen to laugh as often as possible without looking like a crazy person.

But all the while she couldn't help wonder where they were going.

As much as a fun trip aboard the steam train was lovely as it was, Hermione was savvy enough to know that Harry had a destination in mind. He would nod out of the window every now and then, marking the change in the landscape. They were going somewhere, a fact made more evident by the fact that Harry pointed out things as they passed. Places of magical interest that the Express could be asked to stop at. Places Hermione knew about, but was surprised to find Harry knew about, also. The realisation occurred to her then.

_He's made this trip before._

So where were they going? It took a good few hours to find out and Hermione enjoyed every second that she had Harry to herself. The huge surprise came when the Express sped through a coastal station called Rockcliffe...where it suddenly shot _under water!_ Hermione gasped and reached out for Harry in surprise, gripping his hand tightly.

"Don't worry," he said with a warm smile, squeezing her hand back. "It's supposed to do that."

Hermione looked up, slightly awestruck. The Express moved elegantly through the dark water. Hermione could only stare speechlessly through the window and watch as the water flowed steadily past the glass. Harry found her look very amusing. For her part, she felt an innocent invigoration that magic could still stun her like this. It reminded her of all the things she loved and treasured about this world.

Speaking of which, Harry was still holding her hand. And he was looking at her with tender affection in his eyes. Hermione didn't trust herself to speak. She could only look at him, and what she saw sent her heart to frenetic beating. She had been used to seeing such hurt there, bone-weary pain deep rooted in Harry's very soul. But she saw none of that now. All she saw was fiery, burning adoration.

And she was coloured all sorts of pinks.

Harry's emotion coursed through her and she couldn't shake the sensation that he meant it. _He was doing it on purpose_. For her to feel it. He was revelling in this new skill. The thought floored her. She was barely cogent with the raw power of it. But she held his gaze for as long as she was able, before turning her eyes sheepishly to the table.

That's when she remembered the box.

Her coyness allowed her to study it covertly. It was larger than a ring box, which was good as the very notions _that_ thought aroused were enough to send her silly. It was soft red velvet and the letters _HJG_ were stamped inside a golden moon. Her initials? She shook her head in wonder at the effort. The letters glinted a rainbow of colours against the light of the carriage and Hermione had a hard time deciphering the original colour of them. She looked up at Harry to ask but she still couldn't form words under his wonderful gaze.

They stayed like that for some time, either through desire or embarrassment or for the very fact that they had been holding hands for so long it was now awkward to be the one to break the contact. Hermione certainly knew _she_ didn't want to be the one who did it. But Harry didn't seem to want to, either. So because neither wanted to, it was okay to maintain it. And they didn't need to say anything about it.

Hermione had no idea how long the train was under water. Time was only marked by the feel of Harry's skin against her own, and it had no denoted units. His skin was so soft, she'd never imagined a boys skin could be. Ron's was coarse. Harry's was silky smooth, even the slightly textured scar tissue around his souvenir from detentions with Dolores Umbridge. Hermione tensed her jaw angrily as she rubbed the slick skin of the old wound. How could people so casually wound the one she loved so much?

And she almost, _almost_ told him in that moment.

Then the train broke the surface of the water. Sunlight flooded the carriage, dimmer than earlier but it stung Hermione's eyes just the same. She pulled her hand from Harry's to shield her face. Her skin felt colder for the loss of contact. She felt it go sadly.

"Ah, we're here," said Harry brightly as the train rolled to a gentle stop. He reached down quickly and took the velvet box from the table. Hermione saw it and felt a jolt of nervous energy shoot through her. She looked up to see Harry offer her his hand. "Are you coming?"

Hermione smiled and let Harry help her up, repositioning her arm around his neck and letting him guide her from the carriage.

* * *

Harry helped Hermione step down from the train and gave her a few minutes to look at their surroundings. They were breathtakingly beautiful, after all. Perhaps not as much as _her_ , but nothing was. He was pleased to see her looking suitably impressed. He had been slightly in awe of the view when he'd first come here, it was something he had to show her.

And also, she _had to know._ They couldn't proceed if she didn't understand fully.

"Where are we, Harry?" Hermione whispered. "This place is _gorgeous!"_

Harry smiled. "I know, isn't it? I love it here."

Harry looked around. They were on the shores of a stunning lake, behind it the Hogwarts Express sat on sleepers waiting for them. In the distance were deep green valleys, crystal blue waters, the sheer, rugged beauty of a mountain wreathed in white cloud. It inspired reverence. Harry drank it in and breathed deeply.

"But where are we?" Hermione pressed.

"Hermione - welcome to Lake Bala," said Harry. "We are in North Wales, the Snowdonia National Park. That's Mount Snowdon up there. Isn't it a beautiful spot?"

"It's incredible," Hermione breathed. "How on earth did you find it?"

Harry took a steadying breath of the Welsh mountain air. "When...when I left," he began cautiously, "I was looking for the easy fix to make me better. You know what I'm like. So I came here."

"For what purpose?"

"I was told of an old witch who was supposed to live here called Ceridwen," Harry explained. "She was supposed to have a magical cauldron which could give wisdom and had healing properties. I saw it as a quick solution."

"That sounds like myth to me, Harry," said Hermione.

"Oh, no, it was all quite true," said Harry. "Ceridwen's been dead years now. Killed by Grindelwald, if you'll believe. He wanted her cauldron. But he didn't find it. That's the myth part. The _lake_ is the cauldron, its waters have transformative powers."

"Do they?" asked Hermione sceptically. "How do you know?"

"I met her daughter, Creirwy," said Harry. "She explained it to me. _Very_ beautiful girl, she is."

Harry waited a moment, to let the confession fall on Hermione. He was pleased to see her scowl at him.

"Creirwy and her _husband,_ Morfran, told me to bathe in the Lake to help cure me," Harry went on. "So I did. It helped, but I sort of think the time I had to think while floating on the water might have had a lot to do with it. That and the peace and quiet. Its so calming. I think I might live here, you know."

"What? Here...by this lake?"

"Not necessarily here, but in Wales definitely," said Harry. "There's magic _everywhere_. In the ground, in the air, in the water. I feel more comfortable in this country than anywhere else I've been. I'm relaxed here. People seem to love Scotland and Ireland and forget about this place. I sort of like that. I can live in peace. Do...do you like it here?"

Harry let the cautious question hang a moment before looking at Hermione, to gauge her response. She seemed to consider her reply then, in a second Harry couldn't pinpoint but knew had come all the same, her expression changed, warmed as she suddenly understood. She smiled so brightly she might have been glowing.

"Ye-yes, Harry, I love it in Wales," said Hermione breathily. "My mum's Welsh, isn't she? You won't find me forgetting about the place."

Harry felt his foundation shift. His world was changing. He knew it with firm certainty. He yearned for it to come full circle.

"Why have you brought me here, Harry, besides the view?"

Harry looked at Hermione as he pondered his answer. When he replied, his voice was heavy. "I want you to know who I am."

Hermione looked puzzled. "I do know who you are."

Harry shook his head. "I want you to _really_ know. And this is where I found out for myself."

Harry turned his eyes and his face away from her. He let the memories of the time he was here flood him. And tears trickled from his eyes before he could stop them. And what was the point in pretending? Hermione had seen his scars, he'd undressed his wounds in front of her. Now she had to see him for all his flaws.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing over to him as quickly as she could. She was too surprised by his sudden change of mood to say anything more. She simply cradled his head gently and held him close.

"I killed a man, took a life," said Harry lowly, huskily. "Nobody gets it. I saw Death look back at me and I _still see it._ I brought it into my world. And he haunts me, terrifies me, even. When I sleep, when I close my eyes, I can still hear my mum when she died...and see Cedric...and Sirius...even Dumbledore. Everyone I love leaves me. My parents, my family, my friends. My love is poison. I'm a disease. I need to be cured...or killed. People around me only end up hurt...or dead."

Hermione tried to comfort him. She said things like, "Harry, I..." and, "Harry, listen..." and other broken bits but then words seemed to fail her. But this was Harry's test...and Hermione was under scrutiny now.

"I'm telling you this, because you need to know how deep my darkness goes," said Harry. "There's something I'd like to tell you, something I want to ask of you, but I cant until I know you properly understand. Only then can you give me a genuine reply."

Harry eased himself from Hermione's embrace and slid to the floor. She went with him, sitting on her knees opposite him. His tears still fell. He'd been holding them in for a while. But he'd let them out onto this soil before, and felt stronger for the release. The mountains, the valleys, the clouds...they wouldn't judge him. They'd sit in silent observation, offering their beauty as a reward for his catharsis. Now, he hoped for something else.

"What is it?" Hermione asked quietly. Her voice betrayed a tremble.

"When I came here the last time, I was full of anger, of hatred, for pretty much everything," said Harry slowly. "I honestly wasn't sure if my shattered psyche would ever be mended. Whether I'd be sane enough to recognise the next dawn. But here, in this valley, I found beauty and life again. It made me remember that there were still good things in the world.

"That was when I first missed you."

"W-what?"

"I missed you," Harry repeated. He studied her expression hungrily. "I was sat here, almost on this spot, and I really wished I'd brought you with me when you asked me to. You don't know how close I came to taking you. I was so tempted. I didn't really understand why at the time, and the same sensation hit me as I sat here, feeling a bit better after three days of being on my own, and wishing you were with me."

"Oh, _Harry!_ Really?"

"Really. It set a pattern. Everywhere I went after that, whenever I came across a place that cheered me up or made me smile, I found myself longing for you to be there to share it with me. No-one else. Just you. You were my only regret after leaving, and for the longest time I feared to think why."

"And...do you still fear it?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"No, I'm pretty sure I know why, now," said Harry. He took a lungful of empowering air. Hermione didn't seem to be up and running away, and his confession was so close now. "But I'm still afraid to tell you. In case you say what I hope you might, but that you don't know the extent of what I'm asking. Of what you'd be getting into. I cant give you your birthday present until you do."

Harry turned away. The emotions welling up inside were beginning to run away with him. He hiccuped, his tears unaccountably stronger now.

"I'm damaged, Hermione," Harry managed to force out. "You've felt a bit of it. But its far worse than you know. I hurt _all the time_. And I have so much hate and rage in me. I don't know if I can love, or be loved, properly anymore. Not like a normal person. I...I think I may be broken."

Hermione reached up and brushed away his tears with her thumb. Harry felt his breathing hitch. "Harry - you are _not_ broken, I wont let you be. You're wounded, but we can heal those scars, Harry. And you _are_ loved. So, so loved."

"By who?" Harry asked, doubtfully. "Look at me. I'm a mess, a trainwreck. I have the darkest issues colliding inside - self-loathing, impossible anger, unreasonably rage. Who would be foolish enough to take me on? Who'd want to love _that?"_

Hermione smiled at him with beautiful sweetness. She shifted closer, placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed her forehead to his. " _I_ would, Harry... _I do_."

Harry looked at her. His world was standing still. Time had stopped without his noticing. There was no sound, save for Harry's own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Despite his almost certainty, despite his planning based on solid hopes, to hear Hermione say the words was utterly astounding. The impact was devastating, in the most incredible way.

"You-you do?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes shining with tears, too, though of a very different sort. "I do. I love you, Harry."

Harry felt his world flip with his stomach. But he still had to make sure. "As more than a friend?" he asked hopefully.

Hermione laughed. It sounded like sunshine coming out after the rain. "Yes, as more than a friend. As much, _much_ more. I love you. I'm _in_ _love_ with you, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled more brilliantly than he had in his entire life, leaned in close, letting the words flow around him like warm syrup. When he finally remembered how to speak, his voice was barely more than a whisper. "I'm in love with you, too. I have been for the longest time. I love you Herm-"

But Harry's words were smothered by Hermione's soft lips, pressing firmly into his own. Her arms snaked around his neck, his found their way to her waist. She slid forward to straddle him completely, kissing him fiercely and deeply and longingly. Harry knew little of it. His mind was in the stars somewhere. But he managed to kiss her back, not breaking even for breath. This moment, dreamt of for so long, was finally happening.

And it felt more perfect than he could have ever imagined.

After an eternity locked together, but not nearly long enough for Harry's liking, Hermione eased herself away, but still kept their foreheads touching. She was breathing heavily, but she still smiled. It was the single most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen in his life. Then Hermione seemed to lose control for a few minutes. She laughed, hugged him tightly, peppered his face with little kisses, pressed her cheek into his as she hugged him again, then laughed some more, before finally settling her head onto his shoulder and pulling him impossibly tight to her.

"Oh, _Harry!_ Tell me this is true, tell me I'm not just imagining it all! Is this really happening?"

"I hope it is!" Harry smiled into her hair. He swam in her heady scent, he squeezed her as tenderly as he could, mindful of her injuries. It just wouldn't do to start their relationship with yet more pain.

"You never let me finish earlier. You said it first so its my turn. Its only fair, and I've waited long enough myself! I love you, Hermione. I love you _so_ very much. I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much."

"Me too, Harry, me too!" said Hermione lovingly, laughing again and hugging him tighter still. Harry so loved the sound. Hermione was positively bristling with energy. She felt fit to burst. "I wish I could remember this moment forever. I never want it to end."

"Then perhaps its time for your birthday present."

"What? This isn't it?" asked Hermione, sitting back. "What could top this?"

Harry looked at her quizzically. "You think this is your present? Us getting together? I'm not that arrogant, Hermione! I mean...that is what we're doing, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed. "I would hope so. I don't go around kissing boys just for something to pass the time!"

"That's good to know," Harry grinned. "I wouldn't want my girlfriend doing _that._ I can call you that now, can't I?"

Hermione didn't answer with words. She leaned in and kissed Harry again. It was a kiss so slow and sensuous that Harry lost his mind to sensation, he was a slave to it. When Hermione drew back he felt his own lips hold the pose for several moments.

"I want you to call me that as often as you can," said Hermione, breathlessly. "I've waited so long to be your girlfriend, Harry. I feel we have to make up for lost time!"

"Me too," said Harry, ruefully. "We've both made mistakes in the past. We cant do anything about that. But as for the future, that's something different. So, here - happy birthday, Hermione."

And Harry handed over the velvet box.

* * *

Hermione took the box as Harry offered it to her. Her mind was still a frenzied whirlwind. She was struggling to get to grips with all that had happened in the past half an hour. They had been underwater on a train not so long ago. Now they were sat in a stunning Welsh valley as boyfriend and girlfriend, with all of nature behind them silently applauding. Even the sun had stayed out to watch. Hermione could still feel the press of Harry's lips against her own, she could still taste him. The sensations rattled her and hitched a permanent grin onto her face.

And she couldn't wait for more.

But the box in her hand now focused her curiosity. She traced her own initials with her fingers, marvelling at the array of colours shining in them. Then she slowly pulled open the lid. Inside was a silver necklace with a small silver book dangling from it. Hermione took it out and surveyed it.

"Now, it doesn't look much," said Harry. "But there's more to it than meets the eye. "Its imbibed with a powerful Memory Charm and some other little spells. When you put it on it will link to you. Then, every book you read, or have ever read, will be recorded in the necklace. If you need to research something or do revision, you can simply tap the silver book with your wand and it will transform into the book you need. I thought it would be useful for you with your classes."

"Wow! That's amazing, Harry!" said Hermione, her eyes wide. "That will really be great for me, thank you."

She leaned in an gave him a shy kiss on the cheek.

"But it does another clever little thing," said Harry. "It can record pretty much anything you want. Its sort of like a diary. Memories, events, sights...if you want to remember them just hold the book to you and think of what it is you'd like to remember, and it will be recorded. Then you can relive it whenever you like, sort of like a Pensieve.

"We've missed so much time, being apart. I...I thought you might like to remember the new memories we can make...together."

Hermione smiled affectionately at him. " _Like_ to remember? Harry - I'd _love_ that! Here, help me put it on."

Hermione handed Harry the necklace and turned away from him, lifting her hair so he could thread the fine chain around her neck. He fiddled with the small clasp but eventually fixed the necklace in place. The silver book glowed for a moment when it touched her skin. She held it tightly in her fist. She never wanted to forget this moment. This feeling.

"Its looks beautiful," said Harry, he slowly moved his hand towards hers, but his courage seemed to waver. Hermione met him halfway, took his hand and placed it over hers, both now over her heart.

"Not as beautiful as you, obviously, but..."

"Hush you," said Hermione, smiling shyly. She kissed him softly again. She couldn't help it. His lips were her new addiction. She didn't think she'd ever get enough of them.

"The sun's going to be setting shortly," said Harry, as the kiss broke. "Shall we watch it from the top of the mountain? There wont be anyone there now and its quite stunning to see from up there."

"We can't walk up a mountain, Harry."

"Are you a witch, or not?" Harry asked incredulously. " _Honestly!"_

"Oh, right,," said Hermione, bashfully. "Shall we Apparate together?"

"Ok. Just don't splinch me."

Hermione laughed. They both stood, Hermione took Harry's arm, spun them once and they emerged on top of Mount Snowdon some distance away. It was breathtaking from the summit. The evening sky was clear and they could see the sparkling waters and green valleys stretch for miles in every direction. And they were completely alone. Hikers and tourists were long gone, only a few hardy sheep had made it this far up so late in the day. It was picture postcard perfect.

Harry sat and lounged against a plinth with a golden disk atop it, detailing distances to other world locations and marking the summit of the mountain. He opened his arms and invited Hermione to join him. She needed no second invitation. She sat down, rested her back against his chest and snuggled up against him. Harry's arms wrapped tightly around her as he nuzzled the top of her head through her mane of hair. Hermione couldn't stop a contented purr escaping her chest.

"This is so incredible," Harry whispered to her, kissing her softly, holding her tenderly. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

Hermione wanted her heart to slow down. She was certain she might pass out with its rampant beating. And she didn't want to miss a moment of this.

"So have I," she breathed. "I wish I'd told you how I felt sooner. I'm sorry."

"Hey, lets not do that," said Harry. "We can regret later, and laugh about it. But not now. I just want to hold you. To love you. To be _allowed_ to. You're mine...you're my girlfriend! I can't really believe it!"

Hermione grinned broadly. "Me neither. But I _love_ the sound of it!"

"Hermione Granger is my girlfriend," said Harry in wonder, as though thinking to himself. Hermione couldn't get over the disbelief in his voice, as though _he_ were the lucky one in this. That was a bizarre thing to think. She smiled to herself and clutched his arms where they were tightly wrapped around her middle.

"I'm not letting you go now, Harry," said Hermione. "You know that, right?"

"Please don't," said Harry happily. "I don't deserve you, and you will probably regret this tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever, but I'm going to enjoy and treasure every second of time you bless me with."

Hermione sat up and turned to him, giving him a deeply serious look. "Harry, you're mine now. _My_ boyfriend. I've waited forever to be able to say that. And I love you more than I've ever loved anything or anyone. _Ever._ I'm _never_ letting you go, you need to understand that."

Harry looked lost for words at Hermione's fierce declaration of her affection. He seemed stunned to silence that anyone could care about him so passionately. Hermione was pacified. She settled back down, her body now turned into his, the left side of her head resting on his chest. They fitted so well together, so easily, like it was her place all along. It was so natural. She sighed, more utterly content than she had ever been, curled into Harry, with his arms holding her protectively, possessively close.

She was so full of happiness she feared she might explode with it.

Hermione watched as the blood orange sun began to dip beyond the hills on the horizon. It dappled them both in golden amber. Harry sighed in complete comfort and the very sound served only to increase Hermione's own sense of well-being. Harry was relaxed, fulfilled, untroubled...just from the simple act of holding her. Hermione felt covetous of this power she could now wield. As his actual girlfriend. She would never give it up. She felt cosy enough to sleep. It would be the loveliest thing...

And the perfect end to a perfect birthday.


	17. A Covenant, Darkly

Disclaimers: Seriously Weasley bashing ahead. I don't like them. Deal with it. I await the flames from the usual suspects. PS, trains travel in more than one direction from time to time. It was no blooper.

* * *

The news that Harry Potter was officially going out with Hermione Granger didn't just dominate the gossip vines around Hogwarts. It made headline news within a few short days. The _Hogsmeade Village Times_ was the first wizarding media outlet to cover the story, after an eager-eyed JournoWitch spotted them canoodling in a booth at the Three Broomsticks. Harry blamed himself. He found he had very little restraint where Hermione was concerned and every moment not spent kissing her or touching her, in even the smallest of ways, was an abomination against nature. For her part, Hermione didn't seem to mind in the slightest. But Harry, mindful of her exposure her to censure and ridicule as a result of their relationship, resolved to redouble his efforts to be more discreet.

By that point it was a little late. Within seventy-two hours the story had made the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ and by the middle of the next week both Harry and Hermione were receiving daily owls from _Witch Weekly_ with repeated requests for interviews _._ They were threatening a multi-page feature on the Wizarding Worlds' hottest new celebrity couple, whether the pair themselves liked it or not.

"Another waste of good parchment," said Harry, tossing another ignored entreaty into the fire of the Head Students communal room. "You'd think they'd get the message by now."

"Actually, I pretty much expected this, Harry," said Hermione, absently stroking the back of his free hand where it was wrapped around her waist. "They haven't even published the story yet. You sort of have to admire their persistence."

Harry scoffed. "Excuse me, but I have no admiration for these hacks. They've told as many lies about me as truths over the years. You too, don't forget."

"And they probably will again, if we keep ignoring them. Maybe we should just consent to one, get it over with. They'll likely twist it either way, but at least we might get some level of control over the information that gets out."

Harry bristled but had to accept there was some merit to that. In fact, of all the stories which had ever circulated about him, he found himself secretly pleased at this one. Despite his concern over the attention and grief Hermione might get as his girlfriend, he actually wanted to show her off, announce it to the world and let everyone know she was his. Particularly the two absent Weasley children. This was something he and Hermione both shared an interest in and, to Harry's immense joyful surprise, it was she who was more keen to have them know about this happy new development.

"I bet Ron and Ginny must know by now," Harry mused. "The articles in the _Prophet_ are still dominating the gossip columns. I wonder what they think."

"I hope they are seething," said Hermione maliciously. "I cant _wait_ to see Ginny's face when she sees me on you arm. I cant _wait_! I hope she's tamping. Stomping around like a little child who's lost her dummy. I'll laugh right in her face, then kiss you senseless right in front of her."

"Just before you curse her to bits."

"You'd better bloody believe it. But I'll leave enough of her to rot in an Azkaban cell."

In that moment, Harry appreciated that Hermione Granger would make a formidable enemy. He hugged her tighter to him and leaned back against the couch of the communal room. This, for him, was utterly perfect. No out of control passions or vigorous carnal lust. That would come later, when both were comfortable enough in their new roles with each other, and recovered from their various physical and emotional malaises.

But for now, this was pure bliss.

Harry had never known such contentment as he found with Hermione snuggled against him, his arms enveloping her, drawing her impossibly close to him. It was never enough. He always wanted to get her even the tiniest bit closer, as if trying to draw her into his very self. His longing for her was immense, even when she was in the same room. He wondered that he'd resisted it so much before. But they'd agreed not to regret, so he wouldn't. Regret was a negative and they wouldn't allow that in the relationship. They'd make up for lost time and soon their time together would eclipse the time spent apart and it wouldn't matter anymore.

Besides, there were already enough negatives to be getting on with.

Which brought Harry back to the Weasley's. Hermione was sternly fixed on her intentions. Harry had been startled by the firmness of her stance on it. She wanted Ginny to be punished, after she'd had a crack at her first. Harry had never known Hermione to be angry like this. She'd been mad at him before, for not doing homework, or not focusing on the Triwizard Tournament tasks, or for recklessly racing to Sirius's aid without thinking. But this was more fierce than that.

It was rancid. Pure loathing. And all for Ginny Weasley.

Harry didn't know where this bubbling hatred had come from, but that burgeoning romantic side of him wanted to think it wasn't entirely to do with Ginny's attack on Hermione. There was something in the way Hermione spoke about Ginny, sly little hints that suggested a deep resentment for Ginny's role in keeping Harry in Hermione's 'off-limts' bracket. There was a bitterness there that seemed to have little to do with the near-death curse.

And there was the fact that Hermione now couldn't even stand to say Ginny's name, referring to her more often as _that fucking red-headed slut._

When Harry first heard Hermione swear he actually gasped out loud. This made her laugh but Harry had been genuinely shocked. Bad language was normally something he considered beneath Hermione's intelligence level, but Ginny, it would seem, robbed her of her usual sensibilities. Or maybe it was Harry who inspired this guttural attitude. Harry found he loved her being so fiercely protective of him. It was adorable. Hermione also liked Harry's dismissal of Ginny as having a _fanny like a wizards sleeve._ Though she didn't press where he'd gotten this information from, it was useful for a nickname, so they didn't have to wash their mouths out with soapy water after saying her actual name.

So Ginny Weasley quickly became known between them simply as The Sleeve.

Not that they wanted to talk about her or Ron if they could possibly avoid it. Hermione seemed to want to talk about one thing only - how Harry came to fall in love with her. She wanted to catalogue every single nuance of it if she could and kept pressing him to recount, in painstaking detail, how he discovered he was in love with her in the first place. Harry had no problem with this at all, as the memories were some of the best he possessed and his stories lit up Hermione's face so much she looked like she was made of pure light. It made her unspeakably beautiful in Harry's eyes.

Today they were dipping in and out of this already well-covered topic as Hermione revised for an upcoming Charms test and Harry burned more of his mail. They were debating upon who fell in love with who first. Both lay claim to it, but Hermione was being typically stubborn.

"It was definitely me," she said staunchly, as they discussed the issue, sometime after letting the dark echo of the Weasleys fade into the ether. "I knew before you went off on your little sabbatical. That night on the Astronomy Tower, that was my first serious inkling I think."

"Ah ha!" Harry cried triumphantly. "If _that's_ your logic then there's no doubt it was me first."

"In what way?"

"I _waited_ for you on the Tower that night," Harry explained. "In fact, I waited around for days for you. I didn't know it at the time, but something stopped me from out and vanishing way before that stupid celebration they put on here. I could have. I had everything ready ages before I went. But I waited. I waited for you. I wanted to see you again to...to say goodbye."

Hermione put her book down and curled into Harry's chest. The words lingered on them both in the ensuing silence, the memory smothering them. Harry shuddered at the thoughts in his head. They had plagued him for the longest time, the regret that accompanied them swirling around his conscience. The very notion of it sat darkly on his prickly skin.

"Don't ever say that," Hermione whispered gently. "Don't ever say goodbye to me."

"I wont, I promise," Harry breathed back, nuzzling the crown of her head. A stray hair tickled his cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have been selfish. I should have taken you with me when you asked me to."

"A lesser man would have," said Hermione. "But that wouldn't have been you. Besides, absence did make our hearts grow fonder, as the saying goes. It wasn't all bad."

"It was bad enough," said Harry darkly. "I can hardly think of that time without feeling a twist in my gut."

"Really? You feel that too?"

Hermione had turned around now to look at him. She looked up, deep curiosity in her eyes. It bordered on wonder.

"Yeah...yeah I do," said Harry. He felt oddly naked under Hermione's penetrating gaze. "Whenever I think of a time without you, especially when it would have been so amazing to have had you with me, its like someone's pulled a trapdoor from under me. My world was a dark abyss without you, Hermione. I see that now."

"Mine too," said Hermione cuddling in. Harry held her close, drank in her heady scent. It made him feel instantly better. "But that's all in the past. Our future started on top of Mount Snowdon. Think of it like that. I do."

"It was pretty special, that sunset, that first kiss and cuddle," said Harry, fondly.

"Look at you, all lovey and sentimental," Hermione replied, teasingly. "I would never have thought you so soppy."

She dug him playfully in the ribs. Harry winced and laughed at the same time. "You just bring it out of me. Make me all weak and soft, like some sodding girl."

"Excuse me, _I'm_ a girl, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Of course I noticed."

"Took you long enough, mind."

"But I still noticed _first_..."

And the whole debate started all over again. It was a wonderful way to waste time. But Hermione was not to be deterred on the grounds of details.

"I was wondering, Harry," she began, "How did you know about the Express going other places?"

"I sort of found it by accident," Harry explained. "I was here by myself for a month after the War ended. I was wandering around Hogsmeade when I heard the train horn going off. I was surprised; I stupidly thought it only shuttled students to and from school. But I went to the station and found it has a whole timetable and the Express goes all over the country. So I did some digging. The school actually owns part of the whole railway, and gets paid a regular dividend from ticket sales and things."

"Really? I didn't know that. I supposed I've never thought much about school finances."

"No, me neither," said Harry. "But I needed something to focus on, to stop me going mental!"

"Don't joke about that, Harry," said Hermione, suddenly serious.

"Who's joking?"

They looked at each other. Then Hermione leaned up and gently brushed her lips against his, a tender kiss. Harry felt it tingle right through him. Her every touch was an elixir, each one banishing a little bit of his inner darkness. It was a fine excuse to encourage more of those toe-curling kisses.

"Anyway," Harry went on. "Did you know Hogwarts owns property all over Britain?"

"I know a little, from _Hogwarts: A History,_ " said Hermione. "But go on, tell me."

Harry liked it when Hermione encouraged him to speak. He knew she did it on purpose, but he was never quite sure why. Maybe she thought it was therapy for him. Maybe she just liked the sound of his voice. Either way, he was happy to babble away.

"Well, turns out the school owns land and property everywhere," said Harry. "Loads of farms, which pay rent to the school and provide the food for the kitchens -"

"Makes sense, I did wonder -"

"Then there's all the real estate it owns for retail space and housing - almost half of Hogsmeade pays rates to the school in some form, and its not the only place. Apparently, the route of the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross to Hogsmeade never leaves Hogwarts land once the train leaves London."

"Wow, I didn't know _that_ ," said Hermione. "That's fascinating really, isn't it? Think of all the money the school must rake in from that."

"Yeah, I was," said Harry, frowning. "But how much does it actually see? When was the last time the school brooms were updated? Students have to provide their own textbooks because the school doesn't have enough to go around. Potion supplies, cauldrons and all the other equipment, too. That stuff's damned expensive. And they cant pay the staff much. That's why half the Professors are bloody useless. We cant afford decent ones. Poor old Lupin couldn't even afford new robes on his salary. Even _Ron_ afforded new clothes. Sometimes."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," said Hermione thoughtfully. "But why the sudden interest in all this? Its not something I would expect to catch your attention."

"Well, I was just thinking a while back," said Harry flushing slightly. "Now don't laugh or anything, but...well, I was thinking that maybe that's what I might do. You know, for a career and stuff. Be a sort of reformer. Use my fame for something useful."

Hermione turned and sat up to face him. "Harry...really? I think that's a _brilliant_ idea!"

Harry felt his face catch fire. "You're not laughing..."

He sounded like he expected her to.

"Why would I laugh?" asked Hermione, puzzled. "I think that's an amazing thing for you to want to do. I'll admit I'm surprised, but that's a really mature plan to have. But what happened to wanting to be an Auror?"

"I don't think that's what I ever really wanted to do," said Harry. "Ron wanted to do it, and when it was described as a _Dark-Wizard Catcher_ it sounded quite cool, in the same way that Muggle children think its cool to be astronauts. But then I met some Dark Wizards for myself, and dealing with them wasn't cool at all. It was dangerous and frightening. And I rather think I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

Hermione looked sadly, almost pityingly at him. He wasn't sure he liked that look.

"I think I'd be constantly looking over my shoulder," Harry continued. "Living a life of danger and risk. We've played that game, haven't we? It's not fun and glamorous. Its dark and cold, and wet, and you go hungry. And you live in peril the entire time. I really don't want that."

"I cant pretend I'm anything less than thrilled to hear you say that," said Hermione. "I always assumed you'd take the Auror path, but I've lost sleep thinking of the danger you'd be in. For you to say you wont be doing that, and doing this infinitely more important thing instead, well, I'm over the moon and utterly relieved. I wont have to worry about you, at least not any more than I already do."

Harry grinned at her. "Planning to stick around me for a bit then?"

Hermione smiled back. "I had thought about it," she teased. "Besides, we have this phoenix link to explore, now that I'm essentially tied to your family. I'd like the chance to understand it fully. Could take years."

"That suits me," said Harry.

"And I could help you with these reforms. What did you have in mind?"

"I had in mind you graduating from Hogwarts before you start on another crusade," said Harry laughingly. "I wont lie to you and say I hadn't thought about recruiting you to my team, but now you haven't got a choice. If you support me in doing this, that's totally made up my mind."

"Of course I support you," said Hermione. She looked at him with such fondness he felt like something broke inside him. Or maybe it was healing. He found it hard to tell the sensations apart. He shivered pleasantly as her eyes feasted on him. "I really love you, do you know that?"

Harry felt his heart swoop every time Hermione said those words. He could only grin boyishly back at her. "I love you more."

"I love you most!"

"Hmm, I doubt that," said Harry. "But I don't want to row with you. You have homework to do. It wouldn't do at all for you to tackle that after losing a debate to me!"

Hermione picked up a cushion and launched it at him. "To be continued. Will you please make me a pot of tea? I'll need some motion lotion if I'm going to complete all these assignments tonight."

"At your service, Ma'am," said Harry, getting up and filling the kettle before hanging it over the fire. He set to spooning tea leaves into the pot and watched the kettle simmering away over the flames. He must have drifted off into his own thoughts because when Hermione spoke her voice startled him.

"Harry, the water's boiling!"

"Oh, what?" he replied. "Oh, sorry."

He hurriedly lifted the kettle from the fire and moved to pour the boiling water into the teapot.

"What were you thinking just then?" asked Hermione, curiously. "You were miles away."

"Just things," he replied evasively. Hermione fixed him with a nonplussed stare. He wilted. "Well, just thinking about the future. Me and you. Changing the world. Sorting all the problems out. Once you're Minister for Magic we can really set the world to rights."

"Minister for Magic?" asked Hermione. She sounded suspicious. "What makes you think I want to do that?"

"Um...well...I suppose I just assumed."

"That's a bit specific to assume. You can't fool me, Harry. Come on, out with it. How do you know I've thought about running for Minister one day?"

"Well, you're amazing, the cleverest witch -"

"Harry!" said Hermione sternly, cutting him off. "I can tell you're being evasive, or lying. You're all shades of grey."

Harry tutted to himself. Hermione still had this incredible grasp of their phoenix connection. In fact, it seemed to be getting stronger all the time. He couldn't hide anything from her. She described it as seeing him in different colours depending on his mood. He wished he could be transparent. He didn't really want to tell her this truth. He feared what she might think of him.

She seemed to pick up on the turn of his anxiety. He vaguely wondered what colour this would make him in her mind. But she was oblivious to that. She only looked concerned.

"Harry...what aren't you telling me?"

Harry sighed. He decided it was best to be honest. If she ran, she ran. He wouldn't blame her. But she had known what baggage he carried when she took him on. This would be the first test.

"I don't really want to tell you," Harry said quietly. "But you remember when I said I still have dreams about Voldemort? The ones that seem so real? Well, sometimes I have other sorts of dreams that feel the same. Only, they aren't nightmares. I...I can see things. I don't know if they are real or not, or just possibilities. But they aren't like normal dreams. I can always tell the difference."

"And in one of these... _dreams..._ you saw me being Minister of Magic?"

Harry nodded. "Well, _about to be_. It was the day before the election. But you were bound to win."

"And what were we doing, in this dream?"

"Why are you so interested?" asked Harry. "It's probably nothing."

"But it might not be," said Hermione briskly. "Who knows what psychic after effect your connection to Voldemort might have left with you. Do you think you were seeing the future?"

Harry paused, stunned by the directness of Hermione's question. It was enough to give an answer. Hermione nodded sagely but didn't seem to be judging him. Her mind was whirring away, considering the revelation. She turned back to him.

"So...what were we doing in your dream? I only ask because...if I was with you in the future, on such a momentous day, I'm interested to know why."

Harry suddenly clicked, remembering. He had never told her the details of the attempted dream therapy they tried on her. He thought she might feel violated. It didn't hurt for her to think the dream was her own. "Have _you_ had a vision or something? Is that why this bothers you so much?"

"I'm not bothered, at least not in the way you're suggesting," said Hermione. "But I have a memory, or a fragment of one. It sounds like what you're describing. I thought it was a dream, but I'm not so sure now. I'd just like to know if we...if we saw the same future."

Harry grinned broadly. "Did you see one where we were married and had kids?"

Hermione gasped in elation. "Yes! With two daughters!"

"Two? We only had one in my dream," said Harry. "A little girl called -"

"Sophie!" cried Hermione, suddenly remembering. "She had your eyes."

"And your hair."

"Excuse me, _both_ our hairs!"

"Okay, I'll give you that one," said Harry, grinning still. "But you told me you were pregnant again at the end of my vision."

"And we had a second little girl," said Hermione in astonishment. "And I was pregnant _again_ in my dream."

"Again? Well, we must have been busy little rabbits!"

"Harry!" cried Hermione indignantly, slapping his arm playfully. "Don't you see what this means? Are we...are we going to get married one day and have a big family as I saw? As _we_ saw?"

"Well...I hope so," said Harry tentatively. He waited for Hermione's response. The news seemed to stun her. Harry, for the first time, felt truly worried. Maybe this was all too much for her.

"Have you...have you thought about this?" she asked quietly. "Aside from visions, I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah I have," said Harry, far more calmly than he felt. "I love you, Hermione. If I know no other truth in my life, I know that one. I am more comfortable with you than anyone else I ever will ever know. There is one girl in my heart, and one alone. There isn't room for anyone else, ever."

"You...you really mean that, don't you."

Hermione's voice was barely more than a whisper, but her words were a statement not a question. Harry's declaration seemed to hit her as much as the confession of their shared experiences of the future.

"What colour am I?" Harry asked plainly.

"You're golden," Hermione replied with a smile. "Which means you're everything pure and true."

"Then there's your answer," said Harry. "I told you I love you more. I'm frigging obsessed with you. There will never be anyone else for me. As for everything else, if it happens it happens. If it doesn't, we will just have a different future. The only constant I want is you in it. With me."

"Is that a proposal?"

Harry stopped where he stood. He froze as he let Hermione's trembling words settle on him.

Was it?

He considered everything. All the things that marriage entailed. All the things that were needed to make a man and woman into husband and wife. What of these things did he and Hermione not already have? They had trust and respect and the deepest love imaginable. And they were attracted to each other from the basest physical infatuation to the highest intellectual admiration. Harry could not picture a day without Hermione in his life now, and shunned all thoughts of days in his past in which she wasn't with him.

They also had experiences that others had not shared, which had developed the deepest of bonds between them. And their closeness was such that it was improbable that anyone would ever be closer to their hearts than each other. They had overcome obstacles and threats and still had each other, even when others had fallen by the wayside.

Then there was this connection that had been created between them during Hermione's healing process. Harry had tied his magic to hers, bound her tightly to him in a way that went beyond the mere physical. They were spiritually joined. Harry had given part of his very essence to essentially resurrect Hermione. He had bonded with her, joined them together in a way no-one could ever break.

Then it hit him. Wasn't that _exactly_ what a marriage should be?

He was floored by the revelation. Hadn't he intentionally joined with Hermione in a ritual ceremony? Hadn't he agreed to be with her in her sickness, to nurse her back to health? Did that mean they were essentially married already, in a manner of speaking? Merlin, but Harry thought it might be. He was astonished that he hadn't considered the implication before.

The process must have impacted on Hermione, too, for she was looking at him and smiling radiantly. Her eyes were glistening with moisture. She _knew_. Of course she did. Harry understood that now. She would have looked up the ritual straight away and comprehended its meaning. Was she just waiting for him to come up to speed? What a little tease!

"My answer is _yes_ , by the way," she said wonderfully. "It would have been before you went ahead with the ritual, too, just so you know."

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"Its fun to watch you work things out," said Hermione. "Besides, I knew if you came to the conclusion too, and didn't run a mile, you'd want to do it properly."

"Then you _will_ marry me?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, I will," said Hermione shining radiantly. Harry slid over to her and scooped her up in the strongest hug he dared risk. "But I still want a ring and a proper ceremony. When I become Mrs Hermione Potter I want the entire bloody world to know it!"

Harry pulled back from her. "You do? But I thought you didn't like attention like that?"

"Ordinarily, I don't," said Hermione. "But I couldn't be more proud than to have you as my boyfriend, let alone my husband. Besides, there is a small army of witches out there who still think they have a chance with you. I cant curse all of them. But a wedding ring should do the trick. A nice white-gold band would be just the thing."

Harry sat back and marvelled at her. "So, does this mean...are we _engaged_ now?"

Hermione grinned. "I think so. If you want to be. Last chance to back out."

Harry leapt forwards and kissed her deeply. "There was never a chance of that. But...isn't there a way we can seal this? I want to commit properly to you. I want you to know how much I mean it."

"I was hoping you'd say that," said Hermione. She took out her wand. Then she clasped her hand into Harry's, interlocking their fingers. Holding her wand as steady as her trembling fingers would allow, she began a recital. "I, Hermione Jane Granger, hereby make the commitment to bind myself to Harry James Potter. May this promise hold till the day we bond, forever and eternity."

A silvery band wove its way around Harry and Hermione's latticed fingers. It glowed, before fading slightly. Hermione looked up into Harry's eyes, hopefully and expectantly. She inclined her head. Harry knew what to do.

"I, Harry James Potter, hereby make the commitment to bind myself to Hermione Jane Granger. May this promise hold till the day we bond together, forever and eternity."

The band glowed gold this time. Harry could see it and feel it, but not in his fingers. His entire chest, his very heart, felt like it was aflame. For a moment he saw Hermione. She was dappled in golden light. She looked like something of the divine. For that fleeting second, Harry felt her love for him in his own body. It was his first experience of the phoenix bond, and when it faded he felt it go with immense sadness. He wanted it back, he wanted to feel her again.

What he felt was her lips press against his. She kissed him deeply and he responded in kind. They may have been locked like that for hours, Harry could hardly tell. Time seemed to have no impact in this new, wonderful realm they had created. Eventually, they moved apart.

"Wow, Harry!" said Hermione in wonder. "Are we really engaged? Are we actually going to get married?"

"We are!" said Harry, as amazed by the development as she. "And I cant wait to be."

"People will think its fast," said Hermione. "We haven't been going out a week!"

"But we've been in love for years, really."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, we have. I love that you think that, too."

"So, what now... _Fiancée_."

"That's going to take some getting used to," said Hermione, grinning. She suddenly gulped. "I...I think you should take me to bed, Harry."

Now Harry swallowed, which was some feat as his mouth had become unaccountably arid.

"Its not that late, are you really tired?" he asked, dumbly aware of how stupid he was being.

"I didn't mean like _that,_ Harry..."

"Oh... _oh..._ are you, I mean, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, cocking her head so adorably that Harry physically ached at the sight. "It is tradition. Unless...you don't want to."

"Of course I want to," said Harry, a little too quickly, causing Hermione to laugh out loud at his enthusiasm. It made him playful. "And we don't want to break tradition, do we? But...are you going to be able? Your injury, I mean. I don't want to hurt you."

Hermione turned her eyes down and looked at him. It was so sultry and lusty that Harry lost his mind for a minute.

"I have a bit of a bad back," she said huskily. "Everything else works just fine. Now...take me to bed, Harry."

Harry moved so quickly he might have Apparated to Hermione's side, where he scooped her up. He reminded himself that you couldn't Apparate inside the walls of Hogwarts. It said so in _Hogwarts - A History_. It was a pity.

That bedroom was so far away to walk to. Harry wasn't sure he could wait that long.

* * *

Hermione had never been the kind of girl to skip. She had just never been inclined to that sort of grace or rhythm. As a child she was never so good at Double Dutch or hopscotch. She had been told by bullies in her primary school that it was because her knickers were tied too tight. Or that whichever book she was carrying kept her off balance. She had always dismissed it as just another taunt. But now she was questioning that.

For after her night, or rather _day and a night,_ with Harry following their engagement, during which time her knickers were noticeably absent, she found her body moved in distinctly new ways.

It spoke to her in a new vocabulary, like in her own voice but speaking an entirely new language. She noticed a new deftness in the way her hips moved, a new bounce in her walk. It made her able to skip for the first time. She found she quite enjoyed it. She wasn't totally free of pain but as she was practically floating instead of walking, she barely noticed the dull ache the length of her left side.

This, she accepted, may have been simply down to the fact that she was now existing in her own little ball of joy. Normal things, like walking and curse injuries, didn't matter in this enclosed world. There was this ecstasy she was swimming in, and very little room for anything else. She felt stupidly, obscenely happy. She even felt a tinge of guilt that she should be so blissful whenever she saw even the slightest frown on someone else's face. How could anyone be unhappy? The very concept had left the world in her opinion.

For she was now engaged to Harry Potter and all was right in the universe.

She marvelled at the words as they danced before her eyes. She could scarcely believe it. But it was real and it made her smile madly. She wanted to jump up and down with the restless energy it stirred in her. She felt it was definitely helping to heal her curse wounds. Fucking Ginny, or Sleeve as they'd started calling her. All her best efforts to remove Hermione from Harry had failed. And what had happened instead? Harry had asked Hermione to marry him.

She squeaked as the poetry of the thought crossed her brain. She couldn't help it. She was going to _marry_ Harry! She was going to be _his wife!_ It was an astonishing turn of events. And they were going to have children. One was going to be called Sophie. They both agreed that they loved the name. And as they'd both seen the girl they couldn't not go with the name, if they had a daughter first.

It had taken a good few days for the concept of motherhood to truly take root in Hermione's mind. It wasn't as if she'd dismissed the idea, but it wasn't something visceral for her. But now that she and Harry had actually _seen_ their daughter in visions of the future, it had become startlingly real. And Hermione was astounded to find how much she liked the idea. She wasn't sure if it was so much having children but, more accurately, having _Harry's children_ , that she was so keen on. It just made incontrovertible sense in her mind; in the same way as a library was a perfect fit in life, so was having babies with Harry.

Not to mention the practice it would take to make them.

Hermione blushed at the memory of their first _practice session_ a few days ago. She felt her body tingle appreciatively at the recollections. Harry had been so gentle that she had felt not the slightest bit of discomfort. Perhaps it was his lack of experience too, which she was elated to learn about, but it gave her time to adjust to him. Their awkwardness soon got lost in desire and, by the second time they tried, they found they were a perfect fit in that way, too. The third time was just mind-blowing ecstasy of a type that Hermione had never imagined existed. She had been keen to repeat the experience as often as possible ever since.

But today they would have to curtail their newly awakened animalistic instincts towards each other. Well, for the afternoon anyway. It was Saturday and Hermione and Harry were far away from Hogwarts. They were in London, on the Muggle side of the Capital. It was a pleasant day, but also a daunting one. They had spent the morning strolling absently around Westminster, watching the Eye on its continual loop, listened to the hourly chime of Big Ben and had a coffee at a trendy little pop-up café on the banks of the Thames. It was lovely.

But it was time for the scary part. Harry had already embarked on his bit. Very bravely, but hardly unexpected, Hermione had thought. It was Harry, after all. Lack of courage wasn't a trait you'd readily associate with him. But even he'd looked a little pale when he left her. But, despite Hermione's worry, her buoyant mood still made her skip back to the table of the little pub they were enjoying a drink in. Her mother, who was sat waiting for her, watched her approach with deep suspicion.

"Are you alright?" Catrin Granger asked as Hermione shakily placed drinks down in front of her.

"Yes," said Hermione brightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just a feeling," said Catrin, shrewdly. She had the sleuthing skills of Sherlock Holmes. "Harry hurries out of the pub after your father, you bounce back to the table. And I know a _double_ gin and tonic when I see one."

"Well, mine's lemonade," said Hermione slyly.

"Hermione," said her mother warningly. "Don't evade me. You're up to something."

"I'm not up to anything," said Hermione hotly.

"Then there's something you're going to tell me," said Catrin. "Its one or the other."

Hermione couldn't resist the flushed smile that crossed her expression. "Okay, there's something I have to tell you."

"Am I going to like it?"

"Depends," said Hermione, sipping her drink. This pink gin was really something. She would have to buy a bottle while she was here.

"Come on then, out with it," said Catrin, in a business-like manner. "What's going on?"

Hermione took a breath. She was too happy with the news to really play games. "Something's happened...with me and Harry. Something's changed."

Whatever Hermione had expected, to see her mother break out in a huge beaming grin wasn't quite on a par with it.

"Are you about to tell me you finally told each other how you feel about one another?"

Hermione was shocked by her mother's words. "What do you mean _how we feel about each other?_ How do you know how Harry feels about me?"

Catrin threw Hermione her shrewd grin again. "Well he told me, of course. He told me how much he's in love with you."

Hermione felt her mouth fall open. " _Of course_! You say that like its normal! What, exactly, did Harry tell you? And when?"

"Don't act so scandalised, honey," said Catrin soothingly. "I met Harry when he was in Diagon Alley, just after he'd left, on the day that Weasley girl attacked you. He was ever so upset. He thought you were going to get back with that Ron character. He had a little card from a chocolate bar, or something. There was a little version of you on it. I could tell from the way he was looking at it - or you, I couldn't quite tell - but it was obvious how he felt. It didn't take much prodding to get the words out of him. Said he'd been in love with you for so long he couldn't remember the beginning of it. That he was in the middle before he knew he'd even started. It was a lovely thing to say."

Hermione blushed and felt such a surge of emotion for Harry it made her light headed a moment. Then she came to.

"So you already knew...when you came to visit me when I woke up! Why the hell didn't you say anything!?"

Catrin smiled. "It wasn't my secret to tell, sweetie. But I take it you know now?"

"Yes, I know now," said Hermione, smiling herself despite her indignity. "I can't believe you didn't say anything, though."

"You can blame me later," said Catrin. "So, is Harry your boyfriend now?"

"Well, actually, he's a bit more than that, Mum. To tell the truth, he's a lot more."

Hermione slipped her left hand tentatively across the table. Her mother's eyes widened as she clocked eyes on her daughter's finger. Or rather, the small ring with a single diamond glinting in the light from the window.

"Is...is that an _engagement ring?"_

Catrin's shock was evident. Hermione had to be brave now.

"Yes, yes it is, Mum," she said softly. "Harry asked me to marry him and I said yes."

"But Hermione...don't you think you're ever so young to make such a commitment?"

Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought about her situation. The joy of it was too much. She couldn't contain it. "I love him, Mum. I've always loved him. I've never loved anyone as much. I don't think I ever could. And I think, no, _I know_ , he feels the same. I can't imagine ever being without him. We wont be getting married tomorrow, or next week, or next year probably. But one day, we will. And it doesn't matter that Harry didn't wait to ask me till closer to the time. The answer would still be the same. And I'd still love him just as much.

"Mum...say something. Please."

Catrin recovered herself, took a deep breath and smiled at her daughter.

"Sorry, honey, this is just a bit of a shock. But do you really love him that much? Are you absolutely sure? He's famous, and he's wealthy, but do you really love him?"

"Rich and famous!" Hermione spat. "If he gave away all his gold and fame tomorrow I'd love him just as much! I can't believe you'd say that, Mum!"

"I'm just being an over-protective mother," said Catrin. "My nineteen-year-old girl has just told me she's gotten engaged! Give me a little rope here."

"I know its big news, Mum. But I love Harry so much. I want to marry him. He is truly the best man I could ever know. I really want your blessing. Its pretty scary for me, too."

"Yes, I know what a big deal it is. But if you truly love him as you say, and as I know he does you, then he deserves you. I could never have parted with you to anyone less than worthy of you, to someone you couldn't respect as your partner in life. You have my blessing, honey. Well, what a surprise of a day. I didn't think when you invited us for lunch you'd be telling us this. Where is Harry now? Don't tell me - he's gone to ask your Dad for permission!"

Hermione giggled. "He wanted to do it properly. How do you think Dad will take it?"

Catrin laughed. "He may have a heart attack. Perhaps I should go and check on him. It wont do for my future son-in-law to have a dead body on his hands!"

"Mum! Don't say things like that!"

"You need to lighten up, Hermione. Relax a little. It should be a happy time for you."

"It wont be till Harry and Dad get back," said Hermione nervously.

"I'm sure it will be fine," said Catrin. "Your Dad really likes Harry."

"Enough for this!" said Hermione, waving her engagement ringed hand at her mother.

Catrin sighed. "Let me have a look at that. It's very pretty, isn't it? And it looks very expensive."

"I _know_ ," said Hermione. She sounded a mix of mortified and embarrassed, but flattered all the same. She blushed terribly. "Harry said he...he wanted a ring as pretty as me, or as close as one could come."

Catrin smiled affectionately as Hermione's face did a good impression of a stop light.

"And he wanted me to pick my favourite," she went on. "So he had the jeweller hide all the prices. But I know his bag of gold was a _lot_ lighter after we left. I shudder to think how much it cost."

"You're more than worth it. Harry must certainly think so. He really is a lovely boy."

"He is, isn't he?" said Hermione, giggling and grinning girlishly. "I've bagged the best! I'm really quite pleased with myself, Mother."

"I can see that," said Catrin. "Its lovely to see. You're positively glowing, sweetheart. And there's something else that's lovely to see."

"What? _What!"_

Catrin pointed to the door of the pub. Harry was there, David Granger's hand was on his shoulder. Harry gave a little smile in Hermione's direction. She felt a relief so palpable flood her that she wanted to jump up and snatch Harry back to her. She felt an unreasonable desire to smuggle him away from the world and have him all to herself. But she had to be patient. Harry was a mega star in the Wizarding World, and for now he would be the centre on attention at this table, too, if everything had gone to plan.

"Well, well, I see that congratulations are in order," said David, guiding Harry to his seat at Hermione's side. "I'm very happy for you, Hermione. For you both."

"Oh _Dad,"_ said Hermione. She couldn't stop herself jumping up, running around the table and hugging her father deeply. Tears were flowing freely from her now. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say that!"

"And I can't tell _you_ how happy I am to see you _so happy_ ," said David. "I knew something was afoot as soon as we came in. I didn't think it would be _this_ but, well, there we are. You never did do anything by halves, why should I expect you to do anything different in love, eh?"

"Dad!" said Hermione shyly, turning scarlet again as she returned to her place next to Harry. "I have to say I'm surprised you're both taking this so well."

"Hermione, its always been fairly clear to us that you have considered Harry as far more than a friend for the longest time," said David. Hermione smiled at Harry. He still looked a little pale so she took his hand comfortingly and gave it a squeeze. "Yes, it may be a little unorthodox to get engaged so young but, as Harry pointed out, you have lived highly unusual lives. It wouldn't be right to apply conventional wisdom to you."

"And so long as you are happy, and safe, then we are happy for you," added Catrin. "So, a toast...to Harry and Hermione on your engagement!"

The four clinked glasses and the atmosphere relaxed a notch or three.

"But can I ask one thing?" Catrin went on. Hermione nodded. "Can we leave babies for a few years? I'm far too young to be a Grandma!"

" _Mum!"_ cried Hermione, scandalised. But Harry actually laughed. It was a golden sound. It hit Hermione like phoenix song and relaxed her more than she could have expected.

After that it was a very pleasant lunch. A pleasant _family_ lunch, Hermione thought to herself. She was positively roused at the notion. When she parted from her parents some time later she was emotionally tired, but happily satiated all the same.

That evening, she and Harry took a stroll, arm-in-arm, back along the Thames. It was very pretty under the stars and the lights of the city and Hermione, who had never taken much of an interest in such pastimes before, found herself wonderfully contented. Her heart felt full, swelled to bursting with all things Harry. She had never imagined it would feel this perfect, just walking in companionable silence and simply enjoying each other. She stopped and turned to him, kissing his lips fully and deeply, mindless of passers-by.

"What was that for?" asked Harry, holding onto her waist and swaying her slightly.

"Do I need a reason?" Hermione replied, somewhat dreamily. "Cant I enjoy being a bit loved-up?"

Harry leaned in and kissed her first this time. She stood on tip-toe to meet him, losing herself in his embrace. They broke the kiss and simply hugged for a good few minutes. Hermione would have stayed there all night but moved with Harry when he slipped his arm around her and guided her back on their walk.

"Harry - when do you think we will get married?"

"We can do it tomorrow if you really want," Harry replied. "But I'd rather get a few things in order first."

"Such as?"

"I want to put Sleeve in Azkaban for attempting to murder you for starters," said Harry viciously. "And I'm still toying with the idea of putting Ron on his arse for fucking around with you."

"That didn't happen, Harry, I told you -"

"That's not what I meant," said Harry quickly. "I just meant his cheating and stuff."

"Oh, right. What else?"

"Well, we'll have to have somewhere to live," Harry went on. "And both get jobs and careers. That should come first. I don't want to raise pauper babies."

Harry coughed. Hermione could have sworn there was a masked 'Weasleys _'_ hidden in there, but it may have been the swell of the river below.

"Then we have to go through all the arrangements. I don't know anything about how marriage works for wizards. I know you're about to tell me all about it, but save it for now. I'm going to have to get you access to my vault at Gringotts, too. There's lots that we need to do."

"But you'll still get married tomorrow if I want to?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

Hermione laughed at the blatant fear laced in Harry's voice. "No, I think that's a little too soon. I want to enjoy being engaged for a bit first. Have a proper courtship."

Harry guffawed. "Courtship? Have you gone back to the 1700's? Is there a time-turner hidden down your shirt?"

"If there was, would you use it?" asked Hermione. "Go back in time and get us together sooner?"

Harry pondered the question for a good few minutes. "No, I don't think I would. I was a bell-end when I was younger. I'd have screwed it up with you. I'm hardly anyone's idea of perfect now, but at least I know what I have. I wouldn't risk it for anything. If I don't deserve you, that teenage tosser I was certainly doesn't."

Hermione laughed. "You were never a tosser or a bell-end."

"Well would you? Go back and change anything?"

"I might go back to the Chamber of Secrets in Second Year and feed Sleeve to the Basilisk," said Hermione thoughtfully. "But no, I probably wouldn't either. Messing with time is never a good idea. We've been through some crap to finally get together and we know that. And we are going to have the most amazing future. That's the most important thing."

"I agree," said Harry. "So, no time-turners in our lives then. Would you really feed Sleeve to the Basilisk?"

"I'd dice her up to make her easier to ingest," said Hermione. Harry laughed deeply. "Though she might make the poor thing sick. Maybe I'd just push her out of the Quidditch stands. Make it look like an accident."

"Clean," Harry agreed, nodding. "At some point soon, when I get my wand back, you know I'm going after them, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Hermione bracingly. "I knew that when you were just my best friend. I'd be surprised if you didn't now you're my husband to be."

"I like you saying that," said Harry fondly. "Husband to be."

Hermione curled her arm tighter around his. He may have liked hearing her vocalise his role in her life, but she didn't think she'd ever be able to express how much she loved him being that person.

"Will you take me with you, when you go?" asked Hermione.

"No, I don't think I will," said Harry. "You bring out the best in me, Hermione. But when I meet the Weasley cunts again, I want them to see the very worst."

"Alright, I wont challenge you on that," said Hermione. "But only where Ron is concerned. I'm coming with you for Ginny. That skanky bitch is all mine. I owe her."

"Deal," said Harry. "But, personally, I don't think we should play fair with her. She attacked you from behind. We should double team her."

"I'm sure she's been _double-teamed_ already," said Hermione cattily.

Harry smirked. "Probably. But back to the matter, I have my beef with her too, you know."

"You can take satisfaction from putting her into a cell," said Hermione. "I'm putting dibs on a more hands-on approach."

"We'll have to be creative," said Harry. "I don't want them bunging you into a cell next door once you're done with her."

"Oh don't worry about that," said Hermione. "Wizards Duels are all legal as long as both parties consent. I've checked the wording of the law."

"And how do you propose to get Ginny to consent to fight you?"

Hermione smirked darkly. "Harry, you're my fiancé. If I play Ginny just right, she'll be the one challenging _me._ Not that I'll need it, but you'll be my Second, won't you?"

Harry looked at her seriously. "Hermione, if Ginny were to manage to kill you I wouldn't need magic to kill her. I'd rip her apart with my bare hands."

"That's settled then," said Hermione.

She sighed and felt an odd sort of dark sliver slip down her spine. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought she'd just entered into a covenant with something very dark. She and Harry walked on and said nothing more of their intentions towards the youngest Weasleys. She almost felt sorry for them. They were ignorant of all these plans against them.

In short, wherever they were, whatever they were doing, they had no idea of the hell that was coming for them.


	18. To Be or Snot To Be

Harry and Hermione arrived promptly at nine o'clock. Hermione had dressed in a formal suit, a slate-grey jacket covering a high-collared blouse, with a matching grey-and-white tartan skirt. Harry considered her figure and wondered where she had found the attire, speculating wildly that she had gone back in time and raided a young Minerva McGonagall's wardrobe. The similarity was uncanny. Harry, himself, was in simple black robes, deciding it was best not to draw too much attention to himself.

Not that it was working in the slightest.

For nearly everyone who passed them did a double-take. The waiting area for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shared a space with five other departments, meaning there was a fair amount of traffic passing through. Witch, wizard and hag alike clocked Harry and Hermione as they sat there, took a moment for recognition to dawn, then snapped their heads back for a second look. Just to be sure. For a while it was amusing, but Hermione soon grew tired of it.

"You'd think they'd never _seen_ you before," she huffed crossly, as a pair of young witches scuttled away giggling behind their wands. "What, exactly, do they expect to see by gawking like that?"

"They might not be looking at me," Harry offered, jokingly.

"Oh come on, Harry!" Hermione cried. "You're _you_...but these idiots might as well be looking at a giant wizard with three heads! Yeah... _what!_?"

Hermione had snapped at a young wizard who was hurrying by and trying not to stare at them. The vitriol of Hermione's tone nearly made him drop the tottering pile of parchment sheets he was carrying.

"Yelling at random members of the public wont exactly make us less conspicuous!" Harry teased.

Hermione rounded on him with a frown. "Doesn't it bother you? All this silly attention? It's actually ridiculous!"

"Er, well, I've had to put up with it most of my life," Harry reminded her.

"That doesn't excuse it. It doesn't excuse it at all," said Hermione. Harry couldn't get over how cute she looked when she was cross. But maybe he'd wait till later to tell her, she might bite his face off if he tried it now.

"Look, Hermione, don't get all het up. Just ignore it. Its easier once you try."

"I thought I was supposed to be the sensible one," Hermione replied with a slight grin. "And you had the hot head. What's happened to us?"

Harry chuckled at that. "I'd like to say you've improved me, but the flip side to that is that I've brought you _down_...to my level. I'm not comfortable with that."

Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's. His skin tingled at her cool touch, he didn't think he'd ever tire of the sensation. "Maybe we've just brought each other into balance."

Harry smiled at her. "Yeah. I can live with that."

Hermione looked at the clock on the wall. "Half an hour we've been waiting. How long can they expect to keep us like this?"

"Shall I just go up and bang on the desk? Tell them ' _I'm Harry Potter...get a bloody move on?'"_ Harry laughed. "I'm the Chosen One Who Saved The Day, or whatever nonsense they're calling me these days. That has to count for something."

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione replied lightly. "This appointment is for _me_...and I'm not _Mrs Potter_ quite yet."

"I've told you on a daily basis we can get married whenever you like," Harry retorted. "So don't blame your social anonymity on me."

" _Social anonymity_!" Hermione cried. "I'll have you know -"

But whatever she was about to let Harry know would have to wait. A door nearby opened and a young witch stepped into the waiting area.

"Miss Granger? Miss Hermione Granger?" the witch asked.

"Yes, I'm her," said Hermione. "I mean, that's me."

"Ah, nice to...meet you," said the witch. Her eyes fell on Harry, flicked up to his scar, her jaw dropping as comprehension settled on her. "I _knew_ I recognised the name. Bethan, my PA, should have said something when you came in - her head is buried in _Witch Weekly_ more than in my appointment schedule, so she must have known you. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I'm Carol Bletchley, please come into my office."

She said all this very fast. Harry hoped Hermione's hearing was intact because he missed most of it. Carol led them through into a tight office space, scowling pointedly at a stubby little witch who was hunched over a desk crammed into the tiny reception area. The office itself was barely big enough to accommodate the three of them, but they somehow managed it and sat down.

It dawned on Harry that Carol must have been a fairly low-level Officer of the DMLE. He couldn't help thinking that he should have been afforded a more senior agent, being who he was and all. But Hermione must have sensed his arrogance and shot him a disapproving look. Whatever colour he was in her mind, Hermione didn't like it at all. So Harry accepted the silent chiding and sat back reticently.

"Now then, Miss Granger," Agent Bletchley began. "What can the Department of Magical Law Enforcement do for you?"

The Agent seemed professional enough. She had straight, rusty hair falling around a heart-shaped face with blue-grey eyes, all done up in the manicured disarray of someone who allocates a generous amount of time to looking like they just woke up. But she was quite pretty with it. Harry just hoped she had a firm interior under all that glamour.

Hermione cleared her throat and sat up straight. "I was recently assaulted on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The attack was vicious, provoked by jealousy and nearly cost me my life. I am here to press charges against the witch responsible."

Agent Bletchley looked up, clearly rattled. This wasn't how she'd expected her day to start. "Right, well, that's quite a claim, Miss Granger."

"I have witnesses," Hermione ploughed on. "Not only of the assault, but of the people who helped me to recover from my injuries."

"And how _did_ you recover?" asked the Agent, snapping a quill into her hand to take notes. "You seem in good health to me."

"It was an experimental treatment," Hermione replied, glancing at Harry. "A Healer from St Mungo's was involved and has agreed to provide testimony for my case, in exchange for being allowed to write a paper on the procedure, for the international journal _Magical Medicine Monthly."_

"And does this Healer have a name?"

"Jessica Lockhart," said Hermione.

"What?!" Harry thundered. He hadn't known the identity of the medi-witch who had worked on Hermione after Ginny's attack. "We let a _Lockhart_ treat you! I'm amazed you didn't end up as a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"

"Gilderoy was a fraud, but still a wizard," Hermione argued, reasonably. "Jessica is his sister. She's a fully trained and _genuine_ St Mungo's Healer."

"Even so..." Harry hushed darkly.

"Okay, so you were helped by Healer Lockhart," said Agent Bletchley, keen to stay on track. "I shall contact St Mungo's for her testimony. I will need a comprehensive list of all other witnesses, too."

Hermione reached into her handbag and passed over a sheet of parchment with at least a dozen names and contact details. "I thought you might."

"Ah, this is very...thorough," said Agent Bletchley, casting her eyes down the list. "Dare I ask..."

"This is my written statement of the event," said Hermione briskly, sliding a second roll of parchment over. There was a purple wax seal on it, embossed with a smiling silver otter. "I sealed it with a Truth Enchantment, for validity. I'm sure you'll find it equally as _thorough_."

The Agent narrowed her eyes at Hermione's curtness. "Very well, I shall review this in detail. But, tell me, what caused the assault? Had you rowed? You said it was provoked by jealousy."

"It was," Hermione concurred. "Jealousy over the fact that she had a fixation - a quite pointless and delusional, I might add - _romantic_ fixation on my boyfriend. Excuse me...my _fiancé._ "

Hermione looked at Harry, shyly but lovingly. He reached out and squeezed her hand, rolling her engagement ring under his thumb and forefinger.

Agent Bletchley looked at them fondly. "I see. Congratulations, I understand your engagement is fairly new."

"Yes...fairly," Hermione replied, not breaking her gaze with Harry. "But I believe this still falls under the _Threatening Behaviour Towards a Noble House_ clause of the Common and Vicious Assault protocols."

"How so?" asked Agent Bletchley. "Yours is not a Noble House and, despite his heroics, neither is Mr Potter's."

"Ah, but I think that's just a technicality," said Hermione, shrewdly. Harry sat up, taut. He had no idea what Hermione was on about. "You see, Harry's Godfather, one Sirius Black, bequeathed his entire estate to Harry on the occassion of his death. And the Black family was both Ancient _and_ Noble. The incumbent title of _Lord_ Black would have also settled on Harry, along with the rest of the Estate. Furthermore, as Harry's parents were a witch and wizard respectively, I believe there is precedent in this case to argue that a new _House of Potter_ , incorporating the traditional seat of the now defunct Black family line, is the beginning of a new Noble House, possibly even a Pureblood addition to the _Sacred Twenty-Eight_ , not that either of us are interested in any of _that_ Thestral-shite. I am preparing a paper on the subject, to submit to legal scrutiny as soon as I can."

"You are?" asked Harry dizzied, his head swimming with the disclosure.

"Of course," said Hermione, breezily. "Not only because I wont have anyone in this corrupt Government trying to use political pressure to control you, but also because being part of a Noble House will give both you _and me_ extra protection under the ancient laws. It's a screwed up system, but I think we can use it to our advantage."

"How?"

"In lots of ways," Hermione replied. "But the most pressing one, for now, would be that, as a Noble Family, we could declare a blood feud against the Weasleys - or some family members in particular - and we would be legally allowed to apprehend them in a formal arrest - or duel them without legal repercussions."

"What...so you could _kill_ a Weasley if you wanted...and _get away with it_?" asked Harry, astounded.

"We'd have to show just cause," said Hermione. "But yeah...so long as it was deemed a _fair fight_ and with witnesses. These laws are stupidly old, but they are still valid and enforced."

Harry just grinned widely at her. He felt like his birthday had been transferred to Christmas Day and come early.

"You've certainly done your homework," said Agent Bletchley, genuinely shocked and impressed at the same time. Harry and Hermione stared at her incredulously. Clearly, this witch knew _nothing_ about Hermione Granger.

"Of course, there's a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork we'd have to get through for that," said Hermione, popping Harry's dark bubble at a stroke. "For now, I just want the protection under the law, and the right to at least _search_ for Ron and Ginny."

"Ginny...I assume this is the witch you are pressing charges against?" asked Agent Bletchley. She seemed as astounded by Hermione's plans as Harry did.

"Yes, Ginevra Weasley," Hermione confirmed. "The spell she hit me with - the one which nearly killed me - was taken directly from her own family cast. I am fairly certain that qualifies as an act of Blood War against a family...against _our_ family."

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, seeking confirmation. He steeled, staring hard at Agent Bletchley. "You're damned right it does! As Merlin as my witness, I will swear an oath of enmity against Ginny Weasley...if there is such a thing. And, if not, I'll damned well _invent_ it!"

Hermione smiled softly at him, turning her eyes down shyly. Harry felt a surge of emotion for her, as if his energy itself wanted to envelope and protect her from the world and all the people in it.

"Very well," said Agent Bletchley. "I believe I have enough to go on. Do you have any idea where Miss Weasley is at present?"

"No, none," said Hermione.

"She ran into hiding as soon as she cursed Hermione," said Harry, his teeth grinding with the bitterness of it. "Her parents claim to be ignorant of her whereabouts, but I have my doubts about that."

"I will, naturally, speak to Mr and Mrs Weasley in the course of my investigation," said Agent Bletchley. "Arthur Weasley, is it? He works here at the Ministry, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department," said Harry, who couldn't help adding, "though you might want to have _him_ investigated about certain _Misuses_...you might turn up some _interesting_ things..."

"Harry..." Hermione admonished.

"What?" Harry replied, unabashed.

"It's Ron and Ginny we want, not Arthur or Molly."

Harry scoffed. "If they shroud Ron and Ginny from us, protect them from justice, they are just as culpable, just as guilty. Besides, if they learned that breaking the law is acceptable by following Arthur's example...he ought to be punished, too."

Hermione went to argue, but saw the validity of Harry's point and just nodded as she accepted it.

"So...what happens next?" asked Harry, turning to the Agent.

"We will begin a comprehensive search," said Agent Bletchley. "I will assign Officers from the DMLE and Auror Branch to the case, get them working on locating Miss Weasley. We will set our tracking spells to be on the alert for her magical signature."

"How do you know what that is?" asked Hermione.

"All magical children are registered with St Mungo's," Agent Bletchley explained. "It's more than just a hospital, it also holds all medical records for every magical citizen. Blood groups, potential genetic defects or susceptibility to illness, that sort of thing. The unique, individual magical signature inherent to witches and wizards is also recorded. We can use this, and if Miss Weasley triggers an alarm we will have a good idea of her location."

"Sounds pretty thorough," said Hermione, approvingly.

"It is," said Agent Bletchley. "We may also offer a reward for information on Miss Weasley's hiding place, if you are willing. Without sounding crass, the incentive of helping the future wife of Harry Potter will be a heck of a draw for most of our citizens."

"I don't know," Hermione frowned. "I don't think I want Harry's name dragged through the press any more than it already has."

"Like that's even your decision to make," Harry cut across, briskly. "Do whatever you have to do, Agent Bletchley. I don't care if you put out a story a day...I want Ginny to know what she's done, and to make her see she has nowhere to hide. I like the idea of her looking over her shoulder, terrified of being spotted, until the day we manage to catch her."

"Harry...are you sure? I don't want people gossiping about you all the time," Hermione urged. "They talk about us enough as it is."

"What...ashamed of being with me, are you?" Harry asked, teasingly.

"Not on your life, Potter!" Hermione cried. "I want _everyone_ to know _that_!"

"So do I, Ginny and Ron especially," said Harry. "Terrified, and stamping her webbed feet in frustration. That's an image to forge a Patronus from if there ever was one!"

Hermione laughed hard at that. "Okay. Agent Bletchley - you have free reign...on one condition."

"Which is?"

"Make the stories as _juicy_ as possible!" said Hermione, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Hell, dig up Rita Skeeter to write them, if you want. I will sleep easy if I know Ginny Weasley is foaming at the mouth in her anger!"

Now Harry took a turn to laugh. They got up to leave, but just then a thought occurred to Harry. He turned back to the Agent.

"Oh, and Carol - can I call you Carol? I'm going to anyway - you'd better do a damned sight better job than your department did finding either my _exonerated_ Godfather or Lord Voldemort. The consequences for failure will be _severe_. Don't make me take matters into my own hands... _again_."

And with that they left the office.

* * *

Harry was sat on one of the couches of the Head Students Common Area, playing with a Snitch he'd swiped from Madam Hooch's office earlier. He was letting it escape a moment, then quickly catching it, seeing how far it could get before it was out of reach. Hermione was watching him with an amused expression, as she scratched her quill over some homework essay or another. She liked seeing him so content, he knew, so she didn't chastise him for wasting the day.

Perched on Hermione's left shoulder, the quickly growing Phoenix, Solaria, was looking down over Hermione's work as if scrutinising it. When Hermione raised her quill in thought, Solaria would nibble at it with her beak, sharpening the nib. Every now and then the Phoenix would look up at Harry and watch him catching his Snitch, with an expression so like Hermione's that Harry was stung by the guilty notion that he ought to be doing something more useful with his time.

On the other couch, lounging like a movie star, was Neville Longbottom. He had recently accepted an offer to study for his Mastery in Herbology with Pomona Sprout, who had agreed to take him on as her Apprentice. Neville's fearsome Grandmother had purchased a flat for him in Hogsmeade, where he took a part-time job at the Three Broomsticks.

"The pay's decent," said Neville, when Harry looked surprised at the news. "And Rosmerta lets me play what I want on the jukebox, so it's not so bad."

"Money's money," argued Luna Lovegood, who was also there with them. "And I think it's very good that you've gone right into work, Neville. Just be careful of Tongue-Biting Spider Beetles - they like to live in beer tankards, you know."

"I'll keep my eye out," said Neville, grinning at Harry, who threw Hermione a look to stop her correcting Luna on yet another likely-imagined creature. "So, Hermione, I suppose you'd better show me this ring half of Britain is talking about!"

Harry laughed, but Hermione frowned. "Only half? You have to be kidding. We've taken up more column inches in _The Prophet_ than captured Death Eaters this week."

"And we _still_ wont give them an interview," said Harry, pointing at the sheaf of imploring requests happily smoldering away in the fireplace.

"At least it provides good kindling," Neville guffawed. "I'm all for recycling, I'll have you know. Still, give me your hand then."

Hermione held out her dainty little fingers for Neville to examine her engagement ring. Harry felt his heart swoop at the look on Hermione's face, beaming with pride as she was. They caught each others eye in that moment and a dart of electric understanding passed between them...a million things spoken with just a single look.

Harry thanked Merlin, the stars and everything else in existence for the luck he'd been blessed with.

"It's a big stone," said Neville, nodding approvingly. "Good on you, both of you. I always wondered why you hadn't gotten together earlier. It seemed fairly obvious that you should."

"That's what I said," Luna chimed up, her tongue poking out as she painted an Eagle banner for an upcoming Quidditch match.

"You too?" Harry queried. He looked helplessly at Hermione. "Is there anyone else, do you think?"

"Probably most of the people who ever saw you together for five minutes or more," said Neville. "I always assumed you had something going on. When I asked Hermione to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament, I reckoned the person she'd already agreed to go with was you, Harry. I thought you'd make a big song-and-dance announcement by turning up together."

"That would have been romantic," Hermione mused, playfully. "Harry - why _didn't_ you do that?"

She was throwing him a teasing look, so he decided to go with it. "I thought about it...but who knew you liked _older men_."

" _Way_ older men," Neville added. "You were such a sly vixen, Hermione."

"Or he was a dirty effing perv," said Harry, acidly. "I might have to hunt him down, you know? Start a crusade to kill all your ex-boyfriends."

"Was he your boyfriend, Hermione?" asked Luna, sweetly. "I didn't know that. And he was such a brute of a boy, wasn't he? Didn't seem the type _you'd_ go for. Did his stubble tickle when you kissed him?"

"Choose your answer carefully," said Harry, warningly.

Hermione smirked at him. "Viktor wasn't my boyfriend. And, for the record, I only ever let him peck me on the cheek. But yes, Luna, it was scratchy."

Harry felt unreasonable jealousy stir in him. He imagined that spot in the world where Viktor Krum was right now, and hoped it was on fire. Like in the heart of a volcano or something. That would do nicely. He glowered at Hermione until she laughed at his silliness, which burst his own stroppy mood.

"Have you thought about when you'll get married?" asked Luna. "I bet everyone will want to come. Can I? I think I'd like that."

"Of course you can come," said Hermione, to which Luna beamed back. "But it wont be for a good while yet. We have lots of things we want to do before all that. We haven't even decided what sort of wedding we want to have."

"And you'll have to find somewhere to live," said Neville. "No point getting Bonded...if you haven't got a bond for a nice palace somewhere."

"Palace, Neville?" Hermione queried, sardonically. "I think that's a little over the top."

"For Mr and Mrs Harry Potter, I disagree," Neville grinned. "I don't think there _is_ such a thing!"

"I'll have you know I'm my own woman," said Hermione, briskly. " _Mrs Harry Potter_ indeed!"

"You tell him, love," said Harry, supportively. "I'm more likely to change _my_ name at this point!"

"You know I was joking, right?" said Hermione. "To Merlin's Pants with feminism - I've wanted to be Mrs Harry Potter since I was twelve years old, and if I want to call myself that, I will thank you very much."

"As you wish, honey," said Harry, shaking his head in exasperation.

"As far as where we'll live, we have plenty of time to find somewhere," Hermione went on. "But it will have to be private, secluded I think. Somewhere we can keep our secrets..."

And with that, Harry's mind went into overdrive.

It seemed so blindingly obvious that he couldn't believe he'd not thought of it already. Hermione wouldn't approve, as it promised to be a dark sort of journey, so Harry decided to tackle this one alone. He was no longer a part of this gathering, his mind far away and scheming, with part of it hoping to shield his intentions from Hermione's Phoenix Bond insight into him.

It was a minor deception...and if it led him to Ron and Ginny...

So, several hours later, as Hermione settled in for one of her epic baths to soak her lingering curse-induced discomfort, Harry slipped from the castle, away from the anti-Disapparition wards and span into a magical teleportation, arriving in the salty air of a sea breeze. He was knocking the door a moment later.

"Hello, Fleur," said Harry, as the door to Shell Cottage opened. "Is Bill home?"

"Harry!" said Fleur, leaning in and kissing him on each cheek. "How good it is to see you! But what a surprise! Come in, come in and...of course... _congratulations_! I saw you and Hermione in the paper the other day. She looks so pretty with that ring on her finger."

"Thank you," said Harry, crossing the threshold. Fleur's French tones were as sexy as ever. "Though she looks pretty in _every_ way, actually. So, is Bill here?"

"Yes, Harry, I'm here," said Bill, joining them in the hallway. "Nice to see you again."

He held out a firm hand which Harry shook. "You, too."

"Let me hazard a guess that this isn't a social call," said Bill, motioning Harry into the living room to sit down.

"No," said Harry, clocking the knowing look in Bill's eye. "You can be in no doubt about my reason for being here. Your brother and sister..."

"Yes, my youngest siblings," Bill sighed. "Merlin knows what went wrong with those two."

"I'm not here to debate the whys and wherefores," said Harry dismissively. "I just want to find them. Have you seen them? Either of them? Do you know where they are?"

Bill shot the swiftest of glances at Fleur, and it was dripping in hidden meaning. Harry might have missed it, but he was so educated in silent communication between lovers - as he and Hermione were experts in the art - that he was all over it in a heartbeat.

"I know you _have_ , Bill," said Harry, bluntly. "You're the Big Brother. After Molly and Arthur, you'd be the first port of call. And I know you don't want to give them up. But Ginny nearly _killed_ Hermione...almost _murdered_ my fiancé...the witch I intend to marry...the witch who will be the mother of my children. What would _you_ do?"

"I'd hunt the hag down and rip her throat out with my bare teeth," Bill fired back simply. "Look, Harry, I utterly understand where you are coming from. But Ron and Ginny are still my siblings -"

"So you'll obstruct the law?" Harry cried. "You will actively hinder a criminal investigation? I assume you've been contacted by now, told that Hermione has lodged a formal charge against Ginny. There's an international warrant out for her arrest."

"Yes I...I heard," said Bill. He was wringing his hands, the debate raging in his mind.

"Ginny is off the Merlin-damned rails, Bill!" said Harry. "Look, I don't know you all that well, but I always heard only good things about you. All things told of you as a good wizard. Righteous and honourable. Do the right thing now, tell me where Ginny is."

Bill flashed another look at Fleur, who seemed torn herself. "I don't know where she is, Harry. That's the truth."

"But she has contacted you?"

Bill looked at Fleur again, then nodded slowly.

"I knew it!" Harry cried, triumphantly. "When?"

"A fortnight ago, maybe more," said Fleur, stepping in. "She was begging for money, a place to stay. Ron was with her."

"They _came_ here?!" Harry barked.

"Yes, but only for a night," said Bill. "We gave them some gold, told them to turn themselves in. Then they went away."

"Where?"

"I don't know, they said they were going to keep moving."

"And they haven't been in touch since?"

Bill paused. "No."

He was lying, Harry knew that as surely as the wetness of the sea lapping against the beach outside. He wanted to press him, but Bill was no slouch wizard like Ron. He was a Curse-Breaker, a powerful wizard. Harry could feel forceful mental barriers at the edge of his mind, a familiar sense of Occlumency that Harry knew all too well. He had no chance of breaking him.

"Thank you...for telling me this," Harry managed to hiss out. "And there's nothing else you can add? Please, Bill."

For a moment, Bill seemed moved by Harry's heartfelt plea. But he recovered himself quickly. "I'm sorry, Harry. That's all I can tell you."

Harry huffed in defeat. "I just want you to know I simply want justice for my wife-to-be. Ginny _has_ to pay for what she has done. I hope you can see that."

"I know, Harry," Bill sighed. "I really do."

"Then I hope I can rely on your decency," said Harry. "If either Ginny or Ron get in touch, I hope you will let me know or, if you don't trust my restraint, you'll contact Agent Bletchley at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and pass on the details."

Bill nodded, but there seemed little sincerity in it.

Harry rose, there was no point in staying any longer, but he had at least learned something from this brief visit. Ron and Ginny _were_ still relying on their family for help. It was a lead, something to track. He was thinking about just how he might do this when Fleur led him outside and, oddly, closed the door behind them.

"Fleur?" Harry asked, cautiously. "What is it?"

"It's Bill he's... _we've..._ not told you everything," Fleur replied, her tone hushed.

"I gathered that," said Harry, bluntly. "I just hope you'll change your mind and do the right thing."

"Bill cares for his brother and sister," said Fleur. "I can't criticise him for that. But _I_ cant stand that little ginger tramp. She is a nasty, horrid girl, and what she did...it isn't right. I want to help you, Harry."

"Why? Bill is your husband. You made an oath of loyalty to each other."

"But I also I owe _you_ , for saving my sister all those years ago," Fleur argued. "And I owe myself...I want a bit of payback for all the nasty things Ginevra did and said about me, the way she tried to poison her family against me, to keep me from Bill. Tomorrow night, can you meet me? Somewhere away from prying eyes. I will tell you everything then."

"Where did you have in mind?"

"There was a nice pub in Muggle London," said Fleur. "It was in Leicester Square. Your Hermione knows the one...it was where her family met the Weasleys for the first time. It will be ideal. Can you make it?"

"I'll be there," said Harry, firmly.

"Good. Shall we say eight o'clock? Bill is on assignment with the bank tomorrow night so I should be able to slip away easily enough."

"Eight o'clock. Fine. I'll meet you there."

"Bring Hermione, too," said Fleur. She smiled knowingly. "If I know anything about girls, and Hermione in particular, I imagine she wont be happy if you keep her out of this."

Harry grinned back at her. She was probably right. "I will. Goodnight, Fleur."

* * *

For his act of running away in the middle of the night, Hermione gave Harry a serious telling off ('What the _hell_ do you think you were doing!?', 'I'll kill you _myself_ if you pull a stunt like that again!', and other such tirades flew his way) but she calmed measurably once Harry told her of Fleur's promise to disclose information about Ginny. She still simmered for the rest of the evening, but even she had to admit that the situation required a reckless act or two.

The next night came and they didn't even have to sneak out of the castle for the clandestine meeting. Headmistress McGonagall had seen that it was largely fruitless to attempt to reign them in, so gave them a free pass to come and go as they chose. They were both legally adults in the magical world, Harry wasn't even a formal student at Hogwarts and, as McGonagall rightly pointed out, Hermione's heroism during the War had granted her _extraordinary leeway_ that would never be afforded to anyone else.

So, at 7.30pm they headed out of the grounds, reached the standard Apparition port at the Kissing Gate to Hogsmeade Park Reservoir, had a quick kiss as the Gate suggested, then Apparated to London.

Leicester Square was packed as always. Tourists and locals jostled for position in the crowded plaza, long queues snaked away from the giant _Lego_ Superstore, throngs gathered to watch fire eaters and street musicians, and there was an excited mass of people waiting to get in to watch the latest blockbuster movie playing at the huge Odeon Cinema, which was called _Titanic II - This Time Everyone Gets There Alive!_

Hermione frowned dubiously at the trailer playing on the giant screen above the cinema, then ushered Harry towards the pub a few doors down. The irony wasn't lost on her as they stepped inside the narrow little place. _The Moon Under Water_ looked almost unchanged from that fateful night a few months back, when the disaster of Hermione's parents meeting Ron and Co crash landed here. But Hermione couldn't help but smile at the memory, for the wonderful changes it had wrought in her and her life. The mistakes had been highlighted and corrected in the most perfect way.

All in all, it hadn't been such a bad night after all.

Hermione took Harry's hand and squeezed it, as if searching for affirmation that all those changes really had happened. His firm return pressure was all the reassurance Hermione needed - Harry really was there, really was with her, and everything was right with the universe.

Well, _almost_ everything.

Fleur was sat alone about halfway down the pub, on raised seating opposite the bar. Her silvery hair seemed to shine with its own light, competing with that perfect, milky complexion for dominance on the brilliancy scale. There was a gaggle of admiring young men eyeing her up from a nearby table, but she shot a warning look to the bravest who dared to approach, sending him scuttling back to his mates with his pride between his legs, and Fleur hadn't even needed to utter a syllable.

Hermione couldn't help but admire her artistry in the dismissal, but then, she reasoned, Fleur had probably been deflecting amorous attention since she was a young teenager. Poor thing. Hermione chortled to herself...feeling pity for Fleur, who was more _practically perfect_ than Mary Poppins, was quite the bizarre thing.

Fleur looked up at that moment and waved them over. Hermione tried to corral her racing jealousy as Fleur kissed Harry exuberantly on _both_ cheeks, which Hermione thought was _highly_ unnecessary, but she thawed slightly when Fleur hopped to the bar to get them drinks. Either Harry was close enough to eighteen to not arouse suspicion, or his worldly look deflected attention, allowing Fleur to return promptly with a cold beer for Harry and a pink gin and lemonade for Hermione without any hassle at all.

"You remembered?" asked Hermione, genuinely surprised and a little touched.

"Oh yes," said Fleur, brightly. "After you had that here...er... _last time_ , I got hooked on them myself. One thing you cant deny these Muggles, they are experts when it comes to alcohol!"

"I'll drink to that!" said Hermione. She tipped her large balloon glass first against Fleur's - who had copied her drink - then against Harry's pint, before he swigged deeply like a seasoned pro. The bubbles repeated on him and he burped, but to his credit he fought to keep it in his throat. Hermione laughed at him. "Good stuff?"

"I could get used to it," Harry grinned back, wiping a bubble from his lips, which threatened to steal Hermione's attention a moment. She blushed it off, then turned back to Fleur.

"So, where's Bill did you say? Harry mentioned he was Curse Breaking tonight?"

"Yes, somewhere up on Orkney," said Fleur. "Some locals discovered an old Viking tomb after some recent storms up there. They have been plagued by a phantom ever since. It's protecting something, treasure most likely, so Bill has gone with some of the goblins to try and break the curse. The ghost only comes out after dark, though, so it's a night shift for my Bill."

"Those crafty goblins, they love their gems and jewels," said Harry, lightly.

Hermione took a steadying breath. "So...lets get right to it. Ginny - Harry said you want to help us. I have to ask... _why_? She's Bill's sister. Wont he be really mad when he finds out?"

Harry leaned in. Clearly, this had been on _his_ mind, too.

"He's _already_ really mad," Fleur explained. She took another sip of gin. "When Ron and Ginny showed up at the Cottage...I've never seen Bill so angry. It was near the Full Moon, so he was ramped up anyway on account of his... _condition_. But this whole thing has got him really upset. He's had blazing rows with Arthur about it."

"He has?" asked Harry, sounding shocked. "Why?"

"Bill's a good man, kind and clever, but also sensible," said Fleur. "I'm very lucky to have such a wizard love me as he does. He's not reckless like Charlie, playful like the Twins - Merlin rest Freddie's soul -, or career-driven like Percy. But he has elements of them all. He knows that what Ginevra has done is _so_ wrong, and should be punished, but he still loves his family. He doesn't want to be the one who turns her in."

"But _you_ don't mind being that person?" asked Hermione.

Fleur's expression darkened like a storm cloud. "I see it as my _duty_. My opportunity to bring a nasty, spiteful girl to justice. I _relish_ the chance."

"Even though you know what Bill will say?" Harry pushed.

"I think Bill knows I'm here tonight," said Fleur. "He didn't say as much, but we are of one mind. I have never been great at concealing my intentions from my husband. He knew what I was planning, I'm sure of it."

"And he didn't stop you? He just _let_ you? I find that hard to believe."

"Why? It's an easy solution," said Fleur. "This way, the blame is on me. Bill's conscience is clear, and we still get to do the right thing. We can both live with that. In any case, I'm half-Veela...it's hard for _any_ man to stay angry at me for very long!"

Harry and Hermione both let out a laugh at that. It was a vacuous truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"Well, if you're sure," said Hermione.

"Yeah, we wont hold it against you if you back out," said Harry. "This is your last chance."

" _Back out?_ " Fleur spat. "Give away the chance to get vengeance on Ginevra! Not for all the _Galions_ in the Paris branch of Gringotts!"

"I have to ask, Fleur," Hermione began. "Where has this animosity for Ginny come from? You and I have barely met at all. Why are you so keen to help bring her to justice? It cant be for what she did to me."

"No, not entirely," said Fleur, honestly. "But I _do_ owe Harry a life debt for saving my sister from the Grindylows in your Great Lake. Though, I do not consider _this_ to be the fulfilment of that debt. I have enough of my own reasons for wanting to see Ginevra brought to heel. I like Harry very much, for being so brave and sweet and true, and if you are the girl who has captured his heart then I like you by proxy."

Harry looked bashfully down at the table and slurped at his lager. Hermione couldn't help but smile at him.

But Fleur wasn't finished. "So, _you_ deserve to see justice done. But so do _I_. For my entire courtship with Bill, that venomous little flid did all she could to separate us. She worked very hard to poison Molly's opinion against me, not that _Old Mother Hubbard_ ever really liked me anyway. Ginevra would call me names, tell lies about me, steal and hide my things. All to make me look bad and stupid. Which I'm neither. She wrote fake love letters and planted them for Bill to find, hoping he would leave me. She even tried to potion my wine at our engagement party."

"Potion? What potion?" asked Harry, his ire rising in his throbbing temples.

"It would have made me infertile," said Fleur. "And Bill wants to have a large family, one I intend to make with him. We are already trying for our first. Had Ginevra succeeded, I don't know what might have happened."

"That skanky bitch!" Harry seethed. "I'm surprised you didn't hex her freckles off!"

"The thought crossed my mind a few times," said Fleur, grinning cheekily. "But once we were married, I was able to get Bill away from the bad intentions of his family and have him to myself. I thought I could just about stand Ginevra as long as she was far away. Then _this_ happened, and she threw herself onto Bill's mercy and back into our lives."

"And that irritates you as much as our situation does us," said Harry, nodding.

"Perhaps not _as_ much," said Fleur. "But similar, in my own way."

"So, what _can_ you tell us?" Hermione pressed. "You said to Harry that you hadn't told him everything."

"No, I hadn't," said Fleur. "Bill was telling the truth in that we've only seen Ron and Ginny once. But they have been in contact since. Through letters."

"What do they want?" asked Harry.

"More money, more entreaties to allow them to hide at Shell Cottage," said Fleur. "I put my foot down and told Bill to forget it, but he had no intention of giving in to them anyway. That's why he rowed with his father...he tried to convince him to get Ron and Ginny to turn themselves in."

"Then Arthur knows where they are?" cried Harry. "I knew he was lying, too!"

"I think he only knows what we do, in his defence," said Fleur.

"Which is?"

"They are communicating by owl," Fleur explained. "But there are set flight paths for Owl Post. They follow natural air currents and ley lines. Having too many owls swooping around the country would arouse suspicion in the Muggle population. So the routes are carefully planned. But owls don't always go to people, more often than not they go to a _place_. Post Boxes...dotted around the country in magical communities."

"Ah!" said Hermione, understanding quickly. "And Ginny is using one of these?"

"She is," Fleur confirmed. "I can't give you her _exact_ location, but I can give you the address of the Post Box she is using. It will put you in the general vicinity. I'm sorry it's not more, but it's the best I can do."

Hermione grinned widely. "Fleur...you've done _plenty_. This is the best lead we could hope for. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," said Fleur. "Just make sure Ginevra gets what's coming to her and, if you can find a subtle way to do it, let her know if was me who pointed you in her direction. I'd just _love it_ for her to know it was _moi_ who gave her away!"

"I think that deserves another round!" said Harry, standing. "And a toast...to wiping away some annoying, snotty _phlegm_!"


	19. The Phoenix Wand

* * *

Harry looked out of the window of the Head Students Common Room, watching the first sunset of October drop behind the Cairngorm Highland peaks. It was picture-postcard pretty, but Harry's dark mind was impervious to the rugged beauty before him. He was turning the slip of parchment Fleur had given him over in his hand, in much the same way he had a dozen times since she'd given it to him.

It was so well worn by this point that the address written on it was barely legible anymore.

Hermione, curled up in one of the deep armchairs nearby, put down the book she was reading. Harry felt a surge of guilt for disturbing her, knowing, as he surely did, that his emotion had spiked and roused in her too. Hermione's sensitivity to him now was bordering on the invasive. Not that Harry had the slightest problem with that, he was just a tad jealous that he couldn't sense her in the same way.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Hermione asked, her sombre tone betraying that she already knew the answer.

Harry sighed, resigned. It was pointless to be evasive. "Just wondering where _she_ is. Where they both are. What they're doing, what they're thinking. It's getting obsessive."

"Just do what I do, and hope that they are frigid with paranoia," Hermione replied. "It helps me sleep at night."

Harry grinned at that. There was something oddly alluring about this dark side of his fiancée.

"Besides, we _know_ where they are," Hermione went on. "And their residence there will likely be of some duration."

"True," Harry huffed. "Where else could they be so well concealed?"

"It's odd though, don't you think, that they chose the _Muggle_ side of London to hide in," Hermione mused aloud. "They generally despise all things Muggle."

"Then they are suffering where they are," said Harry, darkly pacified. He moved from the window to lounge on the squashy couch. "So much the better."

"There, don't you feel better? You're certainly a nicer colour."

"Which is?"

"A sort of mauve," said Hermione, eyeing him as though he were a homework curiosity. "It's your contented colour, I think."

"I hope one day I get to see you in that way," said Harry. "It seems very unfair that this is a skill for you alone."

Hermione smirked at him. "You just don't like being inferior to me! Well, sorry to break it to you honey, but it will take more than you awakening to the Phoenix Bond for us to be equal!"

Harry laughed at that. "I think we both know _that_. But at least I can walk properly. I just wish I knew where you were hurting...so I could kiss it better."

"Oh, in that case," Hermione blushed. "I hurt _everywhere_ _._ If you start now you might have kissed every inch better by bedtime."

"If only that had been a Triwizard challenge, instead of pulling Ron from the Lake," Harry rued. "You know, I often wondered about that."

"About what?"

"Why the Merpeople picked Ron over you for who I'd miss most," said Harry, conversationally. "If I'd been asked, I'd have as likely picked you as him, or at least not been able to decide between you both."

" _That_ much at least is true," said Hermione. "Considering that you refused to leave me behind and it cost you in the Task. I never told you how sweet I found that, by the way."

"You did?" Harry grinned.

"Insanely," Hermione returned, unabashed. "I thought about it for _weeks_ afterwards. And you think _you_ can be obsessive..."

Which brought them screeching back to Harry's current obsession. "Why do you think Ron and Ginny chose Muggle London, though? I know you must have thought about it."

"Why's that?" Hermione queried.

"Er...you think about _everything_ ," Harry pointed out, fairly.

"Oh, well I suppose I do. It makes a lot of obvious sense for Ron and Ginny to be in London," Hermione began. "When you think that they are being chased by all the magical security agencies. The problem I have with it is how did they _know_ where to go? Ron never showed any overt knowledge of Muggle Britain, Ginny neither."

"That's right," Harry pondered. "And when we spent all those months in that poxy tent it was _you_ who chose the places we set up more often than not."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Which raises the interesting question of not only where Ron and Ginny might be, but who put them there."

Harry hadn't considered that. It was just another thing to dwell on. He looked back out of the window, watching one of the school owls fly by on a hunt, and felt his mood drop sharply.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, painfully fraught suddenly. "Why have you gone all _white_...that's your _lonely_ colour. What's wrong?"

At Hermione's concerned words, as though she sensed them too, Solaria the Phoenix trilled out a gorgeous note from her perch near the fireplace. Harry felt it soar to him, slide into his energy and perk him up like a Pepper-Up potion. That was a weird sensation.

"I was just thinking how...how great it would be to still have Hedwig just now," said Harry, his voice low and quiet. "She'd have been able to fly right along the Postal Routes and spy for us until Ron or Ginny showed their faces. I...I miss her, you know."

Harry turned his head fully away from Hermione just then. It wasn't the accepted wizardly thing to do, to blubber in front of one's witch. Especially over the death of an owl.

But Hermione was not one for protocol. She stood and eased herself over to Harry, sliding down carefully beside him, mindful of her wounded side. She took his hand and just held it till he mastered himself. They didn't speak till the moment had passed, they didn't need to. Words would have just cheapened it.

Hermione eventually took the chance to speak. "And then, I suppose, you went on to think about how I have the Phoenix Bond and you don't and you fell into this melancholy turn."

Harry sighed. "Something like that."

"Is it because you gave up the Phoenix element in you? You feel its absence, don't you?"

Harry turned his head to her in wondered astonishment. "How can you _possibly_ know that?"

"Solaria told me something like this would happen," Hermione explained in a gentle tone. "When we fused in the ritual that saved me. Talk to me."

"I don't know if I can, it's hard to explain," Harry began. "It's like, I suppose, I'm _missing_ something. Like a part of me has been taken away. Like losing a lung, and finding it just that much more difficult to breathe. It was like that part of me only woke when I took ownership of my wand, and now it's gone, but I didn't ever truly appreciate how big a part of me it was till it wasn't there anymore. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret it for a second, but...but it's almost...almost like...what I think _soul-splitting_ might feel like."

Harry's words hung in the air like a Dark echo. He hated anything that might compare him yet deeper to Tom Riddle...but this aspect had been blooming in his mind for some time, and he was honestly struggling to shake it.

Hermione moved _very_ quickly to quell this rampantly growing darkness in Harry's mind, instinctively understanding its cause. "Harry listen to me - no, _listen_ ," she implored. "You have _not_ split your soul. Do you hear me? And you are _not_ Tom Riddle. Your soul is complete and whole and beautiful. I _know_ because I can _se_ eit, I can _feel_ it. Merlin, it _belongs_ to me! I am it's guardian and protector. Just like I am of your heart...and you are of mine."

Harry chocked back a burst of something from deep within. He couldn't respond, for all the words he'd ever learned were clustered together around his Adam's Apple and he couldn't have gotten a single one out if he'd wanted to.

"I can only imagine the horror of what you went through, what it felt like to carry part of that monster around with you," Hermione soothed. "But he's gone now, and he didn't take any part of you with him. He destroyed that part of himself in you. That's all.

"And I can scarcely guess how strange that must be for you, in a macabre sort of way. That darkness must have felt part of you for your entire life. Getting used to it not being there will likely take a huge adjustment. But we have plenty of time for that."

Harry still just sat there. He was frantic to tell Hermione just what her declaration of _we_ meant to him in that instant, but he lacked the vocabulary for it, had he been able to speak at all.

"But losing the Phoenix side of you will likely have been even more profound," Hermione went on. "I understand that, I truly do. It's an intrinsic aspect of you. Much like your Patronus, the phoenix power is _elemental_ in you. What you did...when you made that sacrifice for me...I don't think you have any idea how fundamental that act was. It was the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't your magic you gave up when you sacrificed your wand, Harry...it was an aspect of your very _life..._ and if the ritual had failed it would have killed you. It would have killed us both."

Harry looked at her, his mouth dropping open in shock. "How do you know that? Dumbledore, McGonagall, they never -"

"Tried anything so reckless to save someone they...someone they _loved_ ," Hermione cut across, blushing shyly. "You were so determined to save me that you would have done anything, given anything. The ritual drew on that intent. It didn't matter that your wand burned up, but the destruction of the phoenix feather was much more significant. It had ignited that dormant force in you when you first took possession of it, and that bond grew and grew over the years. It became intrinsic to your being. The act of merely _snapping_ a wand is largely harmless to a witch or wizard...destroying the magical core - especially _by choice -_ is something else entirely."

Harry wasn't sure he truly understood, but he was confident Hermione did and he was safe in her hands.

"And this would have killed me?" Harry asked after a minute.

"You don't realise how damaged I was, how close to death," Hermione explained. "That curse was meant to kill me. It was only through McGonagall's quick actions that I was sedated. She knew more about family magic than Pomfrey, she halted the curse just in time. But she only slowed it.

"Then, when you used _your_ family magic to heal me, the ritual took what it needed. And what it needed was, essentially, a life...to replace the one in me that was slipping away. If I hadn't stopped McGonagall when I did, I'd have lost you."

Colour drained from Hermione's face, so tough was that line to say for her. Harry squeezed her gently, knowing precisely how abhorrent a concept it was for the both of them.

"But...you _saved_ me," said Harry slowly. "How?"

"Ah, now this is where this gets a bit sickly sweet," Hermione grinned, her mood lightening. "You see, you channelled the magic of your family into me, essentially making me part of your family. You realise we essentially _married_ then, don't you? The bond you created is just that type of profound."

"I got that when I clumsily proposed," Harry replied merrily. "But you already knew. That was very sneaky of you, to not tell me."

"What? It was fun watching you catch on," Hermione teased playfully. "Anyway, that family bond allowed me to channel life back into you, _especially_ as you'd decided to renew me with a phoenix. That was singularly brilliant of you, do you know?"

"Or just lucky," said Harry, his thoughts shooting guiltily to Luna Lovegood. He'd never given her a proper thank you for the inspiration for the ritual. That was poor friendwork from him that needed addressing soon. "I only thought the rebirth would infuse you...I didn't know anything about whatever it is _you're_ talking about."

"Well, to be honest, this part is just a guess," said Hermione.

"But your guesses are usually as reliable as most people's cold hard facts," said Harry, staunchly.

"Why thank you," Hermione beamed. "I'm just extraordinarily perceptive."

"I'll go with brilliant, but let's continue."

"Anyway, the phoenix not only renewed my power, but _our_ power...drawn from _our family_. I think there must be a phoenix link in the family line somewhere. We know that your dad was a stag Animagus, but if his Patronus wasn't a phoenix I'll eat my hat."

"You don't own a hat," said Harry, confused.

"Harry...am I a witch or not!" Hermione exclaimed. "We have _pointed_ hats! It's sort of our thing. Even you have one. It was part of uniform from First Year. _No hat..._ honestly!"

"Okay, moving on," Harry retorted, scrunching his face at Hermione.

"Well, the thing is, family magic is unique to...well...to _couples_ ," Hermione continued, her flush deepening, It was still so strange for either of them to voice aloud the new status of their relationship. "It allows for a special sort of healing magic between us. I can heal you in ways that a fully-trained St Mungo's Healer wouldn't be able to...in much the same way as Ginny was able to curse me so terribly. That spell wouldn't have been even a fraction so effective against someone who hadn't posed such a _dual_ threat to the Weasleys."

" _Dual_ threat?" asked Harry, angry and confused again.

"Don't you see, not only was I a physical threat to Ron - and clearly a barrier between Ginny and _you_ \- but I would also have corrupted the family line if I'd had children with Ron. I'd be amazed if Ginny didn't charge the spell with that intent too. She would have seen me as polluting the family...hence I had to be eliminated."

Harry spat out in his roiling fury. "Polluting! _Polluting_...they'd be _lucky_ to have even a piece of you! I'm pretty sure my ancestors are up there somewhere, seeing you as a _blessing_ to our family. Merlin, I know _I_ am!"

Hermione smiled coyly. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot. Really, it does. You're quite sweet, you know."

"Pfft, I'm just telling the truth," said Harry stoutly. "Blessing, you hear me... _blessing_! You will be the best Mrs Potter ever."

"I certainly intend to be," Hermione smiled in reply. "Which is why I've been reading _this_."

She reached over and retrieved her book from earlier. Harry eyed it curiously.

"What book is that?"

" _Fundaments of Alchemy,_ by Lyndy Abraham," Hermione replied. "I took it out for some light reading."

"Of course you did," Harry smirked. "Didn't you do the same with _A Brief History of Time?"_

"I did," Hermione frowned. "Turned out it wasn't as _brief_ as it claimed. Anyway, I was doing some research for my latest Potions project and I came across a reference to something called _Philosophical Mercury_. It's also called Mercurius, and it's different to vulgar Mercury, but it fascinated me."

"Any particular reason?"

"Obviously," Hermione tutted. "The main one being that I have an esoteric connection to Mercury. I'm a Virgo, you know, and in astrology that means my sign is ruled by Mercury and my associated metal is also Mercury."

"You should have said," Harry quirked. "I'd have bought you a thermometer for company!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I will hex you if you're not careful," she threatened. "Anyway, the connection goes further because the chemical shorthand for Mercury is _HG_...which just happens to also be my initials."

"Ok," Harry replied, his brow creased. "Where is this going?"

"I was just looking at the role of Mercurius in alchemy," Hermione went on. "It's the guiding principle in the Work, but also joins with the element sulphur in a chemical wedding...to make the Philosopher's Stone. So, it got me thinking...maybe I was Mercurius...and _you_ were sulphur."

Harry scratched his head. "Would that be a good thing?"

"Good?!" Hermione cried. "It would be _amazing_! Incredible, even."

She was alive with her fervour, and Harry was instantly addicted to the excited glow it diffused over her face. He couldn't stop smiling at it. "Go on."

"Lets assume I _am_ Mercurius," Hermione began. "I would need to be cool and logical."

"Tick and tick," said Harry.

"That's what _I_ thought!" Hermione yelped happily. "And my complementary partner would need to be fiery and passionate, led from the heart so to speak."

"That's pretty much what I expect to find on my Chocolate Frog Card," Harry grinned. "But do I have all the other stuff?"

"Actually, yes," said Hermione. She opened her book again. "The Sulphur principle, ruled by the sun, symbolised by a lion. You are a Leo, ruled by the sun and a lion, obviously."

"So, what...do we mate?" Harry asked sultrily.

"Don't be crude," Hermione retorted, but there was a smile in her eyes. "But we are supposed to join to make you into the Enlightened Philosopher."

"I can definitely see myself as the Plato-type," Harry mused, leaning back into the couch. "And you _have_ guided my through my life...made me a better person. Perhaps you are onto something."

"I'm only at the beginning of my research," said Hermione. "But if I'm right the consequences could be, well...astonishing."

"Really? Like what?"

"Take your pick," said Hermione. "If we both became perfectly enlightened beings, we could use that power to change the world for the better. We are in this process together, if that's what we are, and together we'd be a force of nature."

"Nothing new there then," Harry grinned. "Ron and Ginny don't stand a chance against Team Potter as soul-mates...let alone _alchemical_ mates, which by the sounds of it is deeper still."

Hermione's eyes suddenly shot wide. "Alchemical mates..." she muttered lowly. "Alchemical _mates_...Harry...your Patronus..."

"Is. A. Stag," he completed pointedly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes perfectly," Hermione replied. "The stag is a figure in alchemy, look here. _Cervus Fugitivus_."

Harry leant over to look at the page Hermione was showing him. It showed a picture of a powerful stag and Harry felt a pang as if the prongs had pricked him...it reminded him powerfully of his father in Animagus form.

"And the stag has a mate..." Harry read, a lump rising in his throat. "But, Hermione...the mate...it isn't an _otter_...its a _unicorn._ "

"I know," Hermione whispered. "But an otter was my _old_ Patronus...and we hadn't joined together when I last cast it. A lot has changed since then. Harry...I want to try something. Take my wand."

"Your wand? What for?"

"To test a theory," said Hermione. Harry cautiously took the wand. "You never had an issue using my wand, did you? After I broke yours, you were still able to use mine easily. You never borrowed Ron's wand, always mine, and you never had any issues."

"No, and you didn't with mine," said Harry, recalling a fond memory of Hermione using his wand to unlock a certain door on the Third Floor back in their first year...

"No. That's rare, Harry...unusually rare," Hermione whispered, scratching her cheek as she thought. "Why has this never occurred to me before?"

She seemed cross with herself for missing this clearly important detail about their relationship.

"Is it that big a deal?" asked Harry. "I mean, Ron's first wand wasn't his own, neither was Neville's. It didn't stop them."

" _Didn't stop them!"_ Hermione cried. "They were only the two lowest performing male students of our peer group!"

"Yeah...but that's just cos Ron was lazy and Neville unsure of himself," Harry argued. "It wasn't to do with their wands. Was it?"

"It might certainly have played a part," said Hermione, before adding hufffily, "but I don't want to talk about them. I want to talk about you...or _us_ , more specifically. If we accept for a minute that we have this alchemical connection, and that we were _supposed_ to meet, and I was supposed to guide you on this journey, before eventually joining with you to make you philosophical gold, then this link must have always been active. It would have been constantly flowing between us, you taking the bits of me you were lacking, and me absorbing the parts of you I needed to be better."

"That's definitely true for me," said Harry, thoughtfully. "You became my conscience, the voice in my head, if you like. I always wanted to do better for you, or at least I felt guilty if I wasn't, as though I was letting you down or disappointing you."

Hermione's studious expression softened at a stroke to something far more tender. "Was I really? You never said."

Harry guffawed. "How exactly do you tell someone something like that? It never even occurred to me that I should."

"I suppose that's fair," Hermione replied. "But, Harry, that's unbearably lovely to hear, you need to know that. But it also proves my point - in a way, however subtly, I _have_ been guiding you."

"What's this got to do with your wand?"

"Oh right," said Hermione, clapping her hand to her forehead. "I almost forgot. I think, if I'm right, my Patronus might have _changed_ , because of the ritual. And I think you might be able to channel it, by drawing _our_ energy from me and casting with my wand."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Harry.

"Harry - do you know what my wand material is?" asked Hermione. He didn't, and felt a jolt of shame that he'd never bothered to find out. He shook his head guiltily. "It's willow and unicorn hair... _unicorn_ _hair_ , Harry! Do you see what that might mean? It means that if _I've_ achieved alchemical gold, too, that my inner alchemical spirit might now finally be released."

"How will we know?"

"Cast a Patronus," said Hermione softly. "But try and imagine that you are casting as _me_...draw my magic along our family link."

"I have no idea how to do that," Harry moaned. He so wanted this to work, Hermione was actually glowing in her keenness and Harry was so anxious not to let her down that he physically ached at the notion.

"Of course you do," said Hermione, briskly. "You were able to pick out Lord Voldemort in your mind, just try and pick me out instead."

Harry smiled broadly. That was certainly a more pleasant prospect. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had no idea why, it just seemed the sort of thing to do. For a few minutes there was nothing, just his jumbled thoughts and nagging doubts. And then, quite unexpectedly, he felt it. A gentle sort of flicker, like the tremble of the dawn air as the first sun falls and disturbs it. It was soft and reaching out, as though it were eager for him to find it.

And it was unmistakably _Hermione_ , for everything wonderful that truly meant. Harry had never been more sure of anything in his life.

It was obscenely beautiful. Harry couldn't see it, it had no form, but such a concept of beauty had no definition in terms of parameters Harry could have described it in anyway. It was simply _beauty_ , flawless and elegant and quintessentially Hermione. If this was what the phoenix bond was like...

"Yes, it's me," Hermione hushed softly nearby. "I can feel what you feel...so I know what you've found. Draw my energy to you, Harry...I wont resist."

And she didn't, but she did gasp a great deal. Harry was mildly concerned, but Hermione's gasps were merely of light shock, as though he'd read secrets in her diary or something. This was a deeply personal thing, a connection beyond any ideas of intimate that Harry had ever considered before. But there was undeniable familiarity with it too, and not just in the signature of his family, which was throbbing away strongly on the lapping tide of Hermione's energy.

Harry had connected with this side of Hermione before, this meeting wasn't the first introduction. How he was so sure, he couldn't have said, but he was deeply certain of it. He might as well have been remembering a drunken kiss that he'd forgotten having in his conscious mind, but that his heart had never let go. He revelled in the sensation now, as though it were the depths of some gorgeous abyss.

And how Harry _so_ wanted to fall into it, to drown in the layers of bliss he was sure existed there.

But he had a theory to test. He knew the outcome already in an innate sort of way, but Hermione wanted to see...

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Harry whispered. It was almost a lazy cast, the memory he'd used being so powerful as it was...of he and Hermione on a Welsh mountaintop, their declarations to each other still hanging on the air...the universe sent into approving uproar...the potency of the Patronus would have rendered the whole of Azkaban useless had it been cast there.

Hermione's gasps were enough to confirm Harry's suspicions. But just then, he felt a strange sensation under his chin, and a shockwave of affection so powerful that Harry felt every ounce of breath leave his lungs in a single exhale.

For Hermione's new unicorn Patronus was _nuzzling_ him, communicating all her love in this most intimate way.

"Hermione..." Harry gasped. "I...this is...oh my..."

"I know, isn't it something?" Hermione swooned breathlessly next to him.

"Is this...is this how it feels with the Phoenix Bond, when my emotions are inside you?"

"I can only guess that it does," Hermione beamed. "If what I'm feeling from you now is any indicator. Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It so is, is so _totally_ is!" Harry agreed vehemently. He reached up and stroked the Patronus unicorn. Hermione breathed in a sharp rush of air as she felt it in her own body, shocked and awed by how deep Harry was touching her. Then, all too soon, the silvery animal faded away. Harry felt it go with unfathomable sadness. It was all he could do not to conjure it back.

But Hermione was ready for him. She raised her arm and Solaria took flight. It was a clumsy crossing, as flight was still new to the young bird, but she made it and perched on Hermione's shoulder, trilling contentedly. The sound made Harry swim with glee.

"You see, Harry, the Phoenix power is still there inside you," Hermione purred. "It's just wounded. But we will heal it, then you will feel all that I feel...and it will be the most beautiful thing."

"And the alchemy stuff?"

"That will just make it all the more special, all the more powerful," said Hermione. "We will have your new wand in a few days then all will be well. You'll see."

"I trust you, Hermione," said Harry. Then he snuggled down and placed his head in her lap, where she adjusted his eyebrows and smoothed his old scar until he became so sleepy that he just drifted off for a little nap.

* * *

The goblin, Urqhart, was pondering his client carefully. He was swarthy, clever, but his client was more than his match. A powerful, and slightly dark, young wizard. Famous, but with none of the airs and graces of celebrity. Quiet, intense, serious. Urqhart felt obliged to drop the normal cautions he would have observed with a wizard so young. This boy was no ordinary boy. He was a man in mind and manner, with his body yet to quite catch up.

"So, what can I do for you, Mr Potter?" the goblin asked.

"I am in Diagon Alley for a day of personal business," Harry replied. "Just lately I filed a request for an Engagement Certificate with the Department of Familial Affairs at the Ministry. I have recently asked a witch to marry me, you see. I intend to chase the progress of that up today, but this development has also brought me here."

The goblin smirked, almost a grimace. As close an approximation of a goblin smile one was likely to find.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you," Harry replied, inclining his head.

"And who is the lady?"

"Miss Hermione Granger," said Harry. "She is my fiancee now. We don't intend to marry in the immediate future, but that doesn't mean I can't take steps to protect _hers_."

The goblin leaned forward. "What are your intentions?"

"Understand, Urqhart," Harry began. "The Dark Lord Voldemort may have been killed, by me, but danger lurks around every corner in my life. Angry, unapprehended Death Eaters, other Dark Wizards who may wish to fill the void left by Voldemort...I may never be wholly safe. I want to ensure that if anything happens to me, Hermione will be taken care of."

The goblin grinned again. "And how can Gringotts be of assistance in this?"

"I want to give Hermione Granger full and unfettered access to my wealth," said Harry. "She was recently injured in a brutal attack, one specifically targeting her status as Muggleborn. To heal her, a ritual was carried out which inducted her into my family. She is _Mrs Potter_ now, in all but name, a minor oversight that we will one day correct."

"Yes, our magical records of her own vault were automatically updated," said Urqhart. "Under law, her...well, _limited -_ Muggle-based inheritance now belongs to you. You say you now wish to extend your own control of the Potter fortune to her?"

"I do," said Harry. "I'm here to find out how."

"This process is simple," said Urqhart. "For an Ancient family line - like the Potters - a marriage certificate would be enough. But as you are not married, and Miss Granger is a Muggle-born, the process is slightly more complicated."

Harry looked firmly at the goblin. "I don't care how complicated it is. Just tell me what I need to do."

"We need to draw up a new, bespoke contract," said the goblin. "Then you need to sign it in your own blood. It is then utterly binding. There is no greater Wizarding guarantee...and there will be no going back on it. If you fall out with Miss Granger, or never go through with the marriage, she will still have access to your vault and estate."

Harry smiled. "Is that it? That's not complicated at all."

"Mr Potter, you should understand -"

"No, Mr Urqhart," Harry cut in. " _You_ need to understand - Hermione Granger is the love of my life, my eternal soul mate. We intend to bond in every way, both Muggle and Magical, that we can. This is just a question of time. If she would wed me tomorrow, I'd jump at the chance. But as we both want to wait, I simply want to ensure she's protected in case my enemies find a way to get to me."

"I understand that perfectly, and I respect your foresight," said the goblin. "Few wizards display such advanced thinking. Very well. If you are certain, I shall get the contracts drawn up immediately."

"Good," Harry replied. "Now...where do I give the blood needed?"

The goblin grinned devilishly. "Oh...no need for a donation, Mr Potter. We have quills that will do just the job."

Harry gulped. He suddenly knew where Dolores Umbridge had learned not to tell lies...

* * *

Harry had barely exited Gringotts, into the steady rain falling on Diagon Alley, when he was quickly thrust under a large umbrella. A warm arm slid around his waist and Hermione nuzzled her bushy mane under his chin, in much the same way her Patronus had done a few days before. The similarity was not lost on Harry, who turned involuntarily into the embrace and kissed Hermione on the crown of her head.

"Secret business all done?" Hermione quirked.

"All done," said Harry, careful to hide his still bleeding hand from her view. "And don't be cross - it was private, personal business and the goblins were insistent...I don't make their rules, you know."

"Ah yes, but your _personal and private business_ is functionally equivalent to _my business_ now," Hermione replied. "I claim power of eminent domain over all of your affairs."

"I don't intent to have any affairs," Harry teased.

"You'd better not," said Hermione, seriously. "I was reading about some rather curious castration hexes the other day."

"More _light reading_?" Harry laughed.

"It was more for fun than research," Hermione sniffed. "So, are you going to tell me what you were up to with the goblins?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "But not today. When it's all formally settled, then I'll tell you. I thought it might be a nice wedding surprise...but if you want to _spoil_ it..."

Hermione huffed good naturedly. "Okay, Harry, I'll concede to you. For now. But it had better be worth it."

"What? The surprise...or marrying me!"

"Both!" Hermione nudged Harry playfully in the ribs. "You know, it's such a miserable day, shall we get a drink before going off to get your wand? I fancy one."

Harry was impatient to take ownership of his new magical tool, he wasn't about to lie about that, but Hermione's earnest expression, made all the more radiant by the brightness which the afternoon exercise had given to her eyes, was a difficult prospect to refuse. Harry didn't take much cajoling to agree.

"Okay. But you do realise that this is our first jaunt out in magical London as an official couple? I'd bet half the gold in Gringotts that rumour of us being here has already spread to _The Prophet_ , _Witch Weekly_ and _La Jour Magique_. We can expect attention."

"Good," said Hermione, curling her arm into Harry's. "Then lets give them something _accurate_ to write about for a change."

Harry shook his head at her in wonder before allowing himself to be steered down the long marble steps of Gringotts and onto the alley proper. He and Hermione found their way to the Leaky Cauldron just as it began raining properly and darted inside the pokey little pub to escape the impending downpour.

The pub fell silent as they entered. It was a crowded Saturday and for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to simply stroll in was something akin to natural disaster striking the place. Hermione tucked up close to Harry and smiled at him. Far from being abashed and cowering away, she held her head up and accepted the smiles and attention being lavished on them.

"You're such a conundrum," said Harry, smoothing the back of her hand where it was resting on his forearm.

"Why? I told you I wanted to enjoy this," said Hermione brightly. "For better or worse, you are _you_. That's not going to change. And I'm going to marry you. We are going to be together all the time. And I totally _love_ that. Might as well let everyone see how much."

Harry chuckled. "Shall we have a drink then?"

"Yes, lets," Hermione thrummed. She led them to the bar where a familiar face beamed at them. "Daphne! How are you? I didn't know you worked here."

Daphne Greengrass leaned on the bar and smiled at them. "Only started a couple of weeks ago. Old Tom is...well... _old_ now. He's retiring at the end of the year so I'm taking his place. It's not a bad job. But enough of _that_. Let me see the ring!"

Hermione smiled broadly and slid her left hand across for inspection. At least half a dozen poorly hidden cameras flashed in the background as soon as the stone in question was on display, not to mention nearby patrons who all clamoured close for a good look.

"That's _gorgeous_ ," Daphne cooed. "The _Witch Weekly_ pictures really don't do it justice. What carat is that diamond?"

"Twenty-four? I think," said Hermione, blushing.

"You think! Merlin, Hermione. That must have cost a fortune."

"And she's worth every Sickle," said Harry. "I'd empty my vault for her, if she'd like."

Daphne looked at him dreamily, before grinning at Hermione. "You are one damned lucky witch."

"I know I am," said Hermione, blinking fondly at Harry. "Speaking of spending...are you going to buy me that drink or what, love?"

Harry chortled. "I think I'll have whatever lager you have on tap, Daph. It's about time I started exploring alcohol. What'll you have, dear?"

"Pink gin and lemonade, please," said Hermione. She looked at Harry's quizzical stare. "What? I'm older, I drink with more sophistication! I started drinking when I introduced Ron to my family. To be fair, I had to in order to survive the night."

"Lets not talk about that bell-end," said Harry. "We will deal with him soon enough. I'd rather just enjoy today with you."

Hermione giggled and leant into him as Daphne returned with their drinks. She looked affronted as Harry took out his money pouch.

"You don't pay here," said Daphne. "It's on the house. Tom said you're barred if you try to argue."

Harry looked opened mouthed at the toothy barman at the other end of the pub. He inclined his drink by way of thanks.

"You know what," Hermione whispered as she tucked closer to Harry. "I'm going to absolutely _love_ being with you."

Harry laughed at her and she responded in kind. They spent the next hour or two as the centre of attention. Every wizard and his dog seemed to come by to say hello, or offer thanks for Harry saving the world, or to admire Hermione's engagement ring. Harry supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but the attention was exhausting. He kept sneaking furtive glances at Hermione, but she was taking it all in her stride. He was proud of her, and thankful. She had positioned herself as his shield, deflecting questions and interest onto herself. Harry was immensely grateful for her just then. He would have to tell her so later.

After a couple of hours, and despite multiple entreaties to the contrary, Harry and Hermione left The Leaky Cauldron and strode back onto Diagon Alley. Harry was a bit heady after a couple of beers and the fresh air wasn't helping much. He clung to Hermione, told her all the things he loved about her, then pulled her to an abrupt stop all of a sudden outside of Ollivander's wand shop.

"Do you think I really have a new wand just waiting inside for me?" Harry asked hopefully, staring at the faded purple cushion in the window with the single wand on it.

"Only one way to find out," said Hermione firmly, opening the door to the shop and pulling Harry in behind her. A bell tinkled somewhere in the misty depths of the store and the old wand-maker shuffled up to the counter.

"Ah, Mister Potter. I wondered when I'd be seeing you."

"My new wand," Harry asked bluntly. "Is it done?"

"I have it right here," Ollivander wheezed. Far from bristling at Harry's curt attitude, he seemed quite pleased to show him his creation. "I must say, I'm overjoyed with how this turned out. Easily the most powerful wand I've made in a long time."

Ollivander took out a yew-wood box from under the counter and popped off the lid. As soon as he did, Harry could feel the power emanating from the wand. Hermione must have felt it, too, as her mouth curved into a perfect 'o'.

"Holly, twelve inches, phoenix feather and bespoke hair core," said Ollivander, his tone hushed. "You may wonder why I asked for a lock of Miss Granger's hair? Well, you see, the intimate connection made by your phoenix bond allows for a very unique type of wand magic. You are linked through Miss Granger's phoenix, whose tail feather is in the wand. Miss Granger's hair also gives power to the wand, granting you intimate access to her. It will allow you to draw her power, her knowledge, her talent into yourself when you use this wand. And, naturally, she will have no problem using it herself. Well go on, give it a wave."

Harry took the wand. He noticed his fingers were trembling. As soon as he touched the handle he felt a warmth shoot up his fingers and envelop his entire forearm. It was like being doused in wondrous fire. It was a familiar sensation, like being greeted by a pet after a long absence. The candles in the shop, which were previously dormant, crackled to life. The boxes on the shelves vibrated and Hermione's hair stuck up as though statically charged, as Harry's magic surged and heaved all around them. Harry took a steadying breath, and brought his magic under control.

Then he felt it. Hermione, all over and through him.

It was a knowledge, a feeling, at once his own and yet unmistakably not. Hermione was now painted in an array of colours - sparkling blues and reds and blinding gold - as the phoenix bond erupted wholly in Harry's heart. It would take a while to get used to this, but for now Harry let it flare around him, making him the center of his own localised version of the Northern Lights. He held Hermione with his free hand, pulling her into his own personal field of magic.

She gasped deeply as she came close. "Oh, _Harry_...this is...wow...this is _wonderful!_ "

Harry knew what she meant. He basked in it for a little while longer. Ollivander was smirking a wrinkled smile in their direction, inordinately pleased with his handiwork.

"How is this happening?" asked Hermione, breathlessly. "I've never experienced this sort of magic before."

"Perhaps not in such a visceral form," Ollivander disagreed. "But you most certainly _have_ experienced such a thing before. This is your relationship made tangible. All your affection, all your emotion, your combined magic, all fusing as one. And this is the effect. Such a bond, a union, is incredibly rare, perhaps only occurring once a generation. You should relish the fact that you get to be part of such a unique situation."

Harry was nothing if not relishing this. He felt as if he knew Hermione in all sorts of new and intimate ways. Not paltry facts, like her favourite colour or what she smelled when next to Amortentia, but other things, like how she _felt_...how she _loved_...how she _lusted_...both things that were turned very much in Harry's direction.

He had no idea how to absorb that, but these new ideas made his skin tingle with electric pleasantry. He knew Hermione loved him, of course he did, but to know now that she physically _desired_ _him,_ too...well, that just swelled his very being to bursting point. He just wanted to take hold of her then and there, dive into her until it was impossible to tell where one finished and the other began.

But that was something best kept till later.

"Did you know this would happen, Mr Ollivander? Did you know about the potential of my and Harry's connection?"

Hermione had _questions_. Of course she did, it was Hermione, but Harry had very little concept of normality just now. So he just listened.

"I could only suspect," the wandsmith replied. "But as soon as I learned that you had used a wand in such a ritual as you did, I felt it was entirely possible. That's why I used your own hair in this new wand. The strand is still alive, connected to your own life-force and, naturally, to your magic."

"So Harry could draw my being into him, if he wanted to?"

"If he learned how, which may take a lifetime of study," Ollivander confirmed. "It may be for something as simple as filling in a crossword question, or as complex as getting your opinion on a course of action. Mr Potter could have full access to you in such ways. And you to him, naturally. This is very much a symbiotic process, and a very rare one at that. You ought to enjoy it."

Hermione nodded sagely. "Is there anything we should be wary of with this new wand?"

"Wary? No, of course not," Ollivander replied. "Though there could be some unusual uses to explore."

"Such as?"

"Well, wands with dual cores often produce anomalies, _Priori Incantatem,_ for example," said Ollivander. "But, in this case, the wands are not _brother wands_ , but the cores - in both yourself and Mr Potter - have a unique connection possibly unheard of in wand-lore before. There is the potential for _combined_ use - spells you cast together could increase exponentially in power on account of your Bond. It would be fascinating to explore."

"I will be sure to keep you informed if we ever do," said Hermione, with an air of finality. "Thank you, Mr Ollivander. We shall leave you now. Payment will be made direct from Gringotts."

"Very good, Miss," said Mr Ollivander, before bowing them from his shop.

* * *

Hermione slipped out of her knickers. They were sodden. She bunched them up into a pocket of her jacket, before pulling her skirt back down and straightening herself out. She fanned herself to cool her skin, which was running red hot. It had been ten minutes since the bizarre event in Ollivander's but she was still yet to really get her breath back. Her pulse was still banging away in her neck and thudding in her ears. She felt alive, energised beyond belief and even as her arousal died down she couldn't help but feel the awe of the situation.

She couldn't wrap her head around what had happened. Harry's magic had simply flowed out of his wand and hung around him like a charged cloud. Then she'd stepped into it and been overwhelmed by the effect. She had never felt so close to him, or to anything else for that matter. It was incredible. She was still tingling from the effect. It was all Hermione could do to stop herself from dragging Harry to the nearest secluded spot and literally breaking some decency laws with him.

But it was a close run thing.

Hermione left the public loos and rejoined Harry on Diagon Alley. He was examining his new wand critically, as if it were the first time he'd seen one. Hermione just watched him a while, enjoying the look of boyish wonder on his face. She felt as if she were intruding on something very private and personal, but then she chided herself. Anything private and personal for Harry now included _her,_ so she was more than welcome to join him.

"Anything wrong?" she asked, slipping down onto the low wall where Harry was sitting.

"No, nothing," said Harry. "If anything, I'm a bit in awe. Did you _feel_ the power of this thing? It was intense. I'm not entirely sure I can handle it."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at Harry's reticence. She rather fancied that he would always carry this niggling sense of self-doubt about himself. It was actually adorable, and it was Hermione's responsibility to reassure him. No, it was her natural _role_. At least if she believed in the alchemical link between them, which she was avidly keen to.

And she would spend a lifetime doing it, relishing every moment that she could boost Harry to greater heights.

And he her, of course. That was the wonderful thing about this connection they shared. It didn't just make her better, or him, but the _both_ of them. If she improved, so would he, and vice versa. And together they would become something else entirely. It was a heady concept that even Hermione, as academic and learned as she was, found slightly overwhelming to grasp.

But she was nothing if not determined. And she would start with this new wand.

"I did feel it," Hermione confirmed. "And it was wonderful. Not out of control at all. Was that what you felt?"

"Yes and no," said Harry. "It was just so powerful. It left me light-headed...and that must be from your magic. You are _ridiculously_ talented, I don't know if you've noticed. I always knew you were _clever_...but this is on a different level. You are _amazing_."

Hermione couldn't help but blush, her heart skipping happily in her chest. "I'm glad you think so. I hope you don't mean that just in terms of my magic, though."

Harry gave her a very nonplussed look. "You know I don't."

And Hermione did. She _really_ did.

"But, in any case," Harry went on, "I don't think I'll try drawing your power all in one go any time soon. I think it would overload me."

"We'll do it a little at a time," said Hermione. "Don't forget, I can do the same with you. And if we combine..."

"It will become insane," Harry grinned. "Hey - maybe we should go Dementor-hunting. My Stag, your Unicorn, they'd run a thousand of them down without even trying."

"I hope that's true, I really do."

Hermione and Harry looked up as a deep voice rolled to their ears, and they suddenly found themselves in the imposing shadow of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The new Minister for Magic looked happy to se them, but grave also.

"Kingsley!" cried Hermione. "You shocked us."

Kingsley smiled warmly at them. "My apologies. But the news I carry may shock you more. For we have found the elusive Weasleys."

Hermione shot to attention, and felt Harry's body tauten next to her. She hadn't known a person could go from playful to hyper-alert so quickly.

"You have?" Harry asked, firmly. "Where are they?"

"I'm afraid to say they are in a place where your new Dementor-repelling skills will be put to the severest test," said Kingsley, gravely. "They are in the protection of a very shady branch of the Muggle Secret Service. A branch which has been _experimenting_ with any aspect of magic they can find. And one thing they have found...is Dementors."

Hermione felt herself shiver. There was just that _something_ in Kingsley's voice which made her do it.

"They are experimenting with _Dementors?"_ Harry hissed. "How?"

"Genetic modification, enhancing their power," said Kingsley. "They see it as a way to control mass populations, through induced misery. Makes the citizens turn to drugs, which allows the ruling powers to control them."

"And now they are shielding Ron and Ginny?" Harry spat.

Kingsley nodded and Harry swore loudly. Hermione took his hand and squeezed hard to still him. Then she turned to Kingsley. "But why? What inducement would Muggles have to work with wizards?"

Kingsley fixed her with a stern stare. "Think hard, Miss Granger. If Muggles were handed the chance to power their own possessions with magic, wouldn't the ambitious take advantage of such an offer?"

"But that would violate a dozen Misuse of Muggle Artefacts regulations!" Hermione protested. Then her breath caught in her lungs.

"Precisely," Kingsley whispered. He looked between Harry and Hermione. "I don't think I need explain the _fee_ these Muggles were paid to hide the youngest Weasley children...or who sold his own people out to cover it."

Harry clenched his jaw in unspeakable anger. Hermione felt it too, she had no choice. Harry's emotion was flooding all around her. Harry stood, took one look at her, then Disapparated away. Hermione jumped up, nodded at Kingsley then prepared to follow suit. She wished she didn't have to.

For she'd hoped never to have to visit The Burrow ever again.


	20. A Feud Between Families

Harry had never been so angry in his entire life. He strode around the garden of the Burrow trying to bring some calmness to his mind. It wasn't working. He was so angry he kicked an unfortunate gnome, who stupidly crossed his path, right in the face. It was knocked cold. Harry couldn't even feel remorse. He yelled out in frustration and cursed the gnome for being in the wrong place at the worst time.

Hermione came out into the garden at the sound of his scream. She looked steely and determined. Harry was amazed that she was such a willing participant in what he was doing. But she had a streak of ice that went right through her, it would seem. Especially if there was a threat to him, or them. Her protective instinct was positively feral.

In truth, had he not been so livid, Harry would have found it hot as hell.

"You okay?" she asked.

"No, I'm royally pissed off!" Harry replied forcefully. Hermione stared down his rage admirably. The sight calmed him. "Sorry...I don't mean to vent on you."

"Vent away," said Hermione simply, sitting on a upturned wheelbarrow that Harry had kicked over in his fury. "Team Potter and all that."

"Taking my name already, eh?" said Harry, he didn't want to laugh, but he did regardless.

"I'm going to eventually," said Hermione. "I'm already working on a new signature. Hermione Potter isn't as easy to write prettily as Granger. But I'll get there."

"I truly love you, do you know that?"

"I was thinking we should get married in the garden here," said Hermione, laughing when Harry looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "Just imagine it - we'll tie up all the bloody Weasley's we don't like and make them watch. I'll Imperius Curse Ginny to be ring-bearer, and then maybe we'll go old school and sacrifice Ron as part of the bonding ceremony."

"You light up my day, you really do," said Harry. "Speaking of tying up, are you done in there?"

Hermione nodded. "Yep. Arthur and Molly are covered in so much rope they look like mummies from Scooby-Doo."

This Harry _had_ to see.

Hermione hadn't been lying. The Weasley parents were bound so completely only their mouths and eyes were free from the binds. It took Harry a few moments to contain his laughter before he could get back to the serious business of interrogation.

"Petrificus Totalus?" Harry asked, quirking an eye at Hermione as she joined him in surveying the scene.

"Immobulus," Hermione corrected. "Easier to get them into a sitting position."

"Right piece of thinking man's crumpet, aren't you?"

"And _unthinking_ , if you are anything to go by," Hermione teased playfully. Harry made a face at her, then addressed the Weasley's as coldly as he could.

"Hello Arthur, Molly...I want you to know that I genuinely resent you for making it come to this...for turning me, _us,_ into the very people your daughter felt she had just cause to destroy. But, and let me be very clear on this, I need you to know one, very important fact - for the act of placing yourself as a barrier to the justice my _fiancée_ is owed, I will become ten times worse than Ginny could ever have possibly imagined."

Harry's words were so dark and unyielding that even Hermione gave an involuntary flinch as they hung in the air.

"Harry...please, " Arthur whimpered. "This was all my doing, please let Molly go."

"I know full well it was," Harry scythed. "The Ministry is already on to you, Arthur. For your part in this you could face unlimited punishment. Conspiring with enemy elements within the Muggle Government, giving away magical secrets. Aside from unlawful collusion with a foreign government, how many violations of the International Statue of Secrecy did you actually break! They'll sling you in Azkaban for this. And with no income to support your wife, I worry for her future. And don't look to me for help."

Even Hermione gasped at Harry's calm callousness.

"That's a burden you'll have to bear yourself," Harry continued. "Good luck with that. I wouldn't want that kind of guilt weighing on me, and Merlin knows I know a thing or two about guilt..."

"Harry...please..."

Harry sighed. "Look, you've been good people to me. I really do appreciate the efforts and care you've taken with me over the years. I'll honour that by taking care of Molly, financially, once you are sent down, Arthur. But, naturally, I want something from you in return."

Hermione looked questioningly at Harry, wondering where he was going with this.

"I cant give up my children to you, Harry. I wont," Arthur replied stoutly.

Harry silently fumed as he stalked around the room. "I have no expectation of that. I'm not going to ask you to give Ron and Ginny up. You've already proven quite unhelpful in that department. But I do need to know the ins and outs of your connections in the Muggle world, Arthur. And, the more you lie, the more I'm liable to make this a deeply unpleasant day for you."

"His...his _Muggle_ connections," asked Molly, confused. "Broken Statutes...what have you done, Arthur?"

"Didn't he tell you?" Harry crowed gleefully. "He used his contacts in the Muggle world to hide Ron and Ginny. Gave them secrets of magic by way of payment. What did you do, Arthur? Enchant a few items? Hand over a potion or two? Or was it you who gave them the Dementors?"

"No, I didn't do _that_ ," said Arthur quickly. "They found that on their own. Captured a pair breeding, when You-Know-Who returned to his full strength."

"And the rest?" Hermione demanded.

"Well...I...maybe I _helped_ them with a few things," said Arthur, guiltily. "I'd managed to get that old Cortina to fly, after all. They were _very_ interested in that sort of thing..."

"Arthur!" Molly moaned lowly. "Why, dear... _just why_?"

"I _had_ to, don't you see?" Arthur pleaded. "It hasn't been easy, raising seven kids. My salary isn't much...and I couldn't stand to see you go without..."

Even Harry stumbled at that confession. He hadn't expected it.

"So...you've been selling secrets for _years_?" said Hermione, her tone hushed.

"How long?" Harry added.

Arthur sighed in defeat. "Since the Twins. Having _two_ kids at once...things were already stretched as it was."

"That was when you transferred to the Misuse office," Molly breathed as the enormity of understanding settled on her.

"It was easy money," said Arthur, desperately. "A flying carpet here, enchanted toy soldiers there...it was mostly harmless stuff."

"And as you were sent to investigate any carelessness on behalf on your clients, it was easy to cover up your own involvement," Hermione deduced.

Arthur nodded. "I didn't know about the darker side of what they were doing until recently, I swear that. They were taking the things I was giving them and trying to duplicate the effects using their own technology. They had wizarding help, of course, and they made significant progress. Much of their modern technology has essentially been reverse engineered from the things I did for them."

"Who else helped them?" asked Harry brusquely.

"Other witches and wizards like me, ones who were struggling to support themselves or provide for their families," Arthur confessed. "I don't know names, we were never allowed to meet, for obvious reasons. That's the truth. Some...some did not share my scruples, I know that much."

"Meaning?" Harry demanded.

"Meaning they didn't just enchant toys, they helped to develop terrible weapons," said Arthur. "I heard of bio-weapons programmes, deadly potions administered through viruses. They...they've killed _millions_ in the course of their research _."_

 _"Arthur!"_ cried Molly. "Why didn't you say anything! Put a stop to it?!"

"I _couldn't_!" Arthur moaned. "Muggles are not _backwards_ , Molly, not primitive as much of our kind think. Their operation is highly sophisticated, and protected by deadly security measures. I couldn't get close to it. And besides, they only used what they'd developed against other Muggles, it's _them_ they want to control, not us."

"And that makes it alright, does it!" Harry thundered. "That's how you justify your treachery?"

"I did what I had to for my family," said Arthur. He glanced a look at Hermione through his tight head binds. "I know you can understand _that_ , Harry."

Harry roared in frustration. He knew Arthur was making a valid point. He would do _anything_ for Hermione...he'd like to think he wouldn't betray so many people in pursuit of such a drive, but he couldn't be sure that, if faced with the same situation, he wouldn't have acted like Arthur.

In reality, he rather thought that he might have. He took a steadying breath.

"Maybe you're right, but it isn't for me to punish you for your indiscretions against the magical world at large. I seek justice for Hermione, nothing more. One way or another, you are going to assist me in that, no matter how reluctant you are."

"Mr Weasley...Arthur," said Hermione gently, attempting a different tack. "You must accept that what this rogue wizard-Muggle alliance is doing is dangerous for _both_ worlds...and dangerous for Ron and Ginny, too."

"Dont pretend you care about what happens to our little girl!" Molly suddenly spat, her tone acidic. "It was your harlot ways that caused all of this. First leading our son astray, and then stealing Harry from Ginny. This wasn't how it was meant to be. You ruined everything!"

Molly panted deeply, as though she'd been dying to say this for the longest time. Harry took a while to recover from the abrupt shock, then his anger slammed into him...and Molly Weasley's chair went slamming into a sideboard as Harry's rage erupted from his wand without prompting. He stalked forwards and stared down in utter mindlessness at Molly's wide, terrified eyes. Harry's wand was throbbing against her forehead before he even knew he'd drawn it.

"No, Harry! Arthur roared. "Stop, please! Don't hurt my wife, I'm begging you! I'll tell you what you want to know."

"Damned right you will!" Harry yelled back. "But that was _never_ in doubt." He rounded on Molly again. "You ever, _ever_ say anything like that about Hermione again...if you ever even breathe her _name_ again I'll...I'll..."

But he didn't know how to finish the sentence. So incessant was his anger he couldn't think of a suitable punishment. Hermione came up close to him just then, pressing her hand to his chest, their foreheads resting together.

And Harry stilled at her command. Hermione nodded to him to check he'd calmed, then turned her furious gaze to the Weasley Matriarch under her power.

"If you ever insult me again, Molly, it wont be Harry's wrath you will have to contend with," said Hermione, dangerously. "It will be _both_ of ours. And no spell in that disgusting archive of yours will be enough to save you. In a Potter vs Weasley duel, your family is a pathetic opponent. You wouldn't even finish _second_ against _our_ family in such a contest."

Then Hermione reached up and drew Harry's mouth to her own, kissing him deeply. The power that throbbed from the intensity of their embrace caused the crockery to rattle precariously on the dresser nearby, and the hands of all the Weasley family members on the clock on the wall span rapidly to join Ron and Ginny'si pointing at _mortal peril._

And Harry was hit with a bolt of inspiration that might have come direct from Hermione's mind itself.

_The clock..._

For a moment, Harry just stared at it in disbelief as the idea blossomed in his mind. His eyes fixated on the little hands vibrating in urgency against the combined family status. It _knew_...somehow, though Harry couldn't understand how, the clock _knew_ that the family was now in danger. Which must mean...

"The clock...the fucking _clock!"_ Harry hissed in triumph. He had dragged Hermione out of earshot of Arthur and Molly to share this revelation with her.

"What about it?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"It must have spells imbibed into it," Harry cried. "To monitor the family. Or some other tracking method we don't know about. Don't you see...it reacted when you threatened Molly, and it already _knows_ Ron and Ginny are at risk from us. Which means..."

"That if the clock is tracking them, we can use it to find them!" Hermione finished, mirroring Harry's enthusiasm. "We've got them, Harry! We've only bloody got them!"

Harry grinned at her and nodded. They returned to the kitchen.

"Okay, Arthur, you are going to help us now, before the future Mrs Potter _really_ loses her temper," said Harry, winking at Hermione.

"Very well, Harry, just don't hurt my wife, I'm pleading with you," Arthur sagged. "What do you want to know? My contacts? Where Ginny is being held? You should know, Ron isn't there. He only helped deliver Ginny to the Muggles. Please, show mercy to him."

"You aren't in a position to make demands," said Hermione coolly. "Ron's fate, as well as Ginny's, will depend entirely on how much you cooperate with us."

"I _am_ cooperating!" Arthur whined. "I will further. Just tell me how."

"Tell me how the clock works," said Harry bluntly. He glanced up and grinned _._ Whatever Arthur was expecting, it clearly hadn't been that.

"Ex-excuse me," he whimpered. "The clock...? But, why?"

"It knows what I'm considering, what we might possibly do in the course of pursuing justice," said Harry. "The clock both knows my intent and the current state of your family. I imagine there's a form of tracking charm on it, so I must be able to follow the link to your kids and find where their sorry arses are hiding. We already know where Ginny is...but Ron is owed a reckoning too."

"I cannot give my son up," said Arthur in a last act of defiance.

"It's really your choice," said Harry simply. "Ron gets punished for his disgraceful behaviour towards my witch, as he's due, or Molly falls into destitution when you are imprisoned. Pick one."

Arthur groaned. "Do I have your word you wont kill Ron?"

"If he accepts the terms," said Harry. "But if something happens in self-defence..."

Arthur swore lowly. He gathered his wits again. "And you'll look after Molly when I...if I..."

"I'll set up a trust fund at Gringotts, they can sort it," said Harry, off-handedly. "I have no intention of seeing either of you again after tonight. Consider it financial recompense for your years of hospitality to me."

"Harry...we never wanted..."

"Molly taught Ginny about love potions and gave her a spell to keep non-Purebloods away from any object of her affection," Harry said firmly. "Don't think me stupid enough to not realise the intentions behind that. It was her dumb fault that Ginny fixated on me and attacked the love of my life. Now, tell me about the clock."

* * *

"To be fair, it's quite an impressive bit of magic, when you consider it."

Harry stared blankly at Hermione a moment, then frowned at her.

"It's quite a _dark_ piece of magic, if we're trying to be fair," he said lowly.

Harry fixed Hermione with a serious stare as she quirked an eyebrow at him. Over her head, clouds scudded past a crescent moon, which was a spooky shade of amber this evening. The conservatory of her parents' house, where they were currently scheming, afforded a sweeping view of the night sky. It was wonderfully atmospheric. Appropriate, too, for the shady deeds they were discussing.

"Dark?" Hermione questioned. "How so?"

"Oh, the tracking charm part is pretty standard," said Harry. "It's just personalised locator spell, isn't it? Clever, but hardly unheard of. And the physical condition charm is harmless, too. Molly was trained by St Mungo's. That's probably where that idea came from. Diagnostic spells, I expect. Arthur then just followed his habit of abusing his job and misused another Muggle artefact."

"That doesn't make it Dark magic, though."

"No," Harry agreed. "But the magic that tracks _intent_ against the family is absolutely riddled with it. When Arthur was bitten by Nagini a few years back, the charm tracking his _physical_ state took the clock to _Mortal Peril_. Ron and Ginny are in peril because we _intend_ to do them harm. It's a different branch of magic entirely."

Hermione considered Harry's words a moment. "I suppose it's like forced Divination or prophetic magic. Is that what you're thinking? It's perverting nature somehow?"

"Exactly," said Harry. "This corrupted clock can be used to foresee that members of the family might be in mortal danger, no matter where they might be in the world. Imagine being able to force nature to your will like that? It's quite scary, really. I bet the clock alerted Arthur to the risks against Ron and Ginny and he moved to protect them."

"But how did the _clock_ know?" Hermione mused quietly.

"My point entirely," said Harry. "That kind of magic involves not just the Weasleys, but you and me, too. As well as all the things we might have been thinking and plotting. That strikes me as dark as fuck. I feel violated by it. That charm, or spell, or whatever it is, has been _invading_ us, giving the Weasleys a heads up. Only Dark magic can be used in something so perverse and dubious."

Hermione nodded, starting to agree. Harry shook angrily. It didn't matter, really. Ron and Ginny _were_ in mortal danger from them. The charm was working. But the dark forces behind it were unlikely to be benign.

"I wouldn't have thought the Weasleys powerful enough to bend nature to their whims," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Curious, isn't it, that they are capable of such darkness?"

"Dark, light, grey...as long as the clock bends its will to _us_ I don't really care," said Harry. "So, how did Arthur say we extrapolate the information to find Ron?"

"We use _Homenum Revelio_ as a pull spell," said Hermione. "Sort of like extracting memory for a Pensieve. Then we let it show us where to go. There's no telling what form it would take, but that's how a Weasley would go to the aid of a family member in trouble. Now, as neither of us are Weasleys -"

"Thank fuck," said Harry, shuddering as he thought how close that outcome had been, for them both. Hermione grinned in acknowledged recognition.

"As I was saying, since we thwarted the Big Happy Weasley Family conspiracy, the clock will not respond to us willingly. The magic behind it will resist. It will have a will of its own."

"Dark. As. Fuck," said Harry pointedly, shaking his head. "Don't trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

"We are going to have to force its compliance," Hermione went on. "We will likely have to use both our magical powers to succeed."

"Piece of piss," said Harry, offhandedly. "I have Pureblood magic. You are the powerfulest witch ever. Easy peasy."

"I know you _think_ you're Pureblood, Harry, but you're not, really."

"How do you work that out? My mum was a witch, my dad a wizard. Magical blood from both parents."

"It doesn't work like that," said Hermione patiently. "Not in the eyes of the magical community, anyway. You have to be able to track your lineage back generations and generations. The Potters are an Ancient Family. Your line on your father's side goes way back. But your mum was a first generation witch. Now you're going to marry me, and I'm the same. You're just as much a blood traitor as your dad."

"And bloody proud of it," said Harry staunchly, kissing her temple. "It's quite neat that, isn't it? Sort of poetic. You being like my mum, me like my dad. And there was me thinking we couldn't get any more perfect."

"I always thought Ginny _looked_ like your mum, from the pictures I've seen," said Hermione, cautiously. "Same hair and things."

"Looks like my mum?" said Harry, sickened and horrified. He wanted it not to be true, but Hermione had a point. "I had my tongue down the throat of _a clone_ of my mother? Now that's just all kinds of screwed up. I think I want to kill myself. I don't want to live!"

Hermione giggled, then frowned crossly. "If I ever hear you mention your - er - _relationship,_ or any element of it,with that scrut again, I'm going to kick you right in the private parts. Okay, sweetie?"

Harry laughed. "I hope you do. I deserve to be punished for ever considering it. _Looks like my mother._ Minging! Disgusting! I need a shower. In acid. Maybe that will erase her stain from me."

"In any case," Hermione went on. "Getting back on topic, we may need to combine our magic to overpower the clock. Weasley family magic has already proven quite formidable. Best not take any chances."

Harry saw her wince with the memory. He knew full well that the healing of the physical side of an injury was only half the battle. It would take time for the other aspects to be dealt with. Harry didn't have too many worries about that. Hermione was the strongest person he knew. And now she had his support. They'd get through anything together.

"It will be a perfect opportunity to test our Phoenix power," said Harry. "I'm sure Sol will help, wont you?"

The phoenix, curled up on a modified bird bath nearby, turned her beautiful plumed head and sang in powerful confirmation.

"I'm not sure she likes you calling her _Sol,"_ Hermione frowned.

"How do you know?" Harry queried.

"Because _I_ don't," Hermione returned. "So stop it."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry chortled sardonically.

"This whole situation does bring up another potential issue, though," said Hermione, returning to the topic at hand.

"Which is?"

"The Weasley Family magic is pretty strong," said Hermione. "Ginny proved that. When we eventually find Ron, we will need to be cautious."

Harry scowled. "You think _he's_ been taught it, too?"

"I'd be amazed if he hasn't," said Hermione. "Ron is a mediocre wizard. Always has been. We both know that. He's gotten by simply by existing in our slipstream. _He_ knows that, too. He must be expecting one or both of us to go after him. Makes sense that he would arm himself any way he could."

"Especially if it was a simple solution," Harry agreed, bitterly. "He always was lazy, with his magic and his application."

"I always thought he dragged you back at Hogwarts, slowed you down. I tried to tell you."

"I know. I'm ashamed I didn't listen. I was a proper student when I went to Muggle school, too. I kind of had to be, because Dudley and his gang didn't let me make friends. I escaped into books and education. Plus, I looked like a weirdo in his old, discarded clothes. I never had anything of my own. People didn't want to be seen with me because of it."

"You poor thing!" Hermione cried, squeezing his arm consolingly. "It must have been such a wretched life for you."

"But my point was, I was really into learning back then," said Harry, colouring in the face of Hermione's pity. "My school library was my sanctuary. It was the one place Dudley wouldn't go to find me. I'm pretty convinced he couldn't read till he was at least ten. Books baffled him, so he avoided them."

"His parents can't have been much better with him than you, then."

"No, they just fawned over him. Whereas I developed an intimate relationship with my Uncle's steel-buckled belt."

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Hermione moaned, angry tears glistening in her eyes. "After we are done with the Weasleys, I'm going right after those evil bastards.

"They aren't worth it."

"No, but _you_ are."

"I wasn't telling this story to make you mad," said Harry. "I was just saying that I used to be a keen academic when I was younger. I was more like you than you realise. Making friends with Ron has been a twat of a life choice. If only I'd shared a carriage with _you_ and not him that first year. Things might have been so much different...so much _better_."

"I thought we agreed not to regret," said Hermione, dabbing at her eyes.

"I know, I'm just feeling bitter, that's all," said Harry. "It'll pass, when I get some closure."

"That first year was a pretty wild introduction to one another, to be fair," Hermione considered. "Our whole relationship is pretty much your fault because of the troll incident at Halloween. Coming to my rescue like I was a fairytale princess. I was essentially hot for you from that moment on."

"Hermione! You were eleven!"

"No, I was twelve by then," Hermione corrected. "And I was an early bloomer."

"Blimey," said Harry, rubbing his chin. "I must have really frustrated you, being as dense as I was."

"More often than I'll ever confess," Hermione teased. "But you are quite beautiful, so consider yourself forgiven."

"You are charity itself!" Harry laughed. "And more vain than you ever let on."

"I have nothing to be ashamed of," said Hermione simply. "I love you, nothing will change that. The fact that you could charm the knickers off me with just a simple look is merely a happy coincidence. Your looks will let you get away with so much with me...dear lord...what would my mother say!"

Harry shifted nervously at that. "Now, about that...you are sure they don't mind us being here? Well, _me_ specifically. I thought you said they didn't want wizards in the house."

"No, they didn't," Hermione agreed. "The impact of the Weasleys was pretty damaging. They were even going to ask _me_ to leave home, that's how bad it was."

"Wow...you never told me _that!"_ said Harry, astonished.

"The Weasleys really hurt their feelings, belittled them without even knowing they were doing it," Hermione explained. "Which made it worse. They made it seem such xenophobia was natural for them. In hindsight, maybe it _was..."_

Hermione's words drifted away with a cold shudder, as she remembered the immediate fallout of that disastrous meeting.

"I think it was just knee-jerk, their reaction," Hermione went on. "They were angry at me as much as Ron, for what they saw as me lowering myself to their level. But I'm sure plenty of people have become estranged from their families after dating someone their parents didn't approve of. Luckily, I saw sense...then you restored their faith in magical-kind."

"I don't know how," Harry replied awkwardly. "I didn't really _do_ anything."

"You were just yourself, and that was more than enough," Hermione smiled. "And my parents said you are welcome here because of it. I just thought it might be nice to get away from Hogwarts for a couple of days."

Harry couldn't argue with that. A change of scenery was doing his mood the world of good. Hermione, too, seemed more relaxed than of late. Perhaps it was just the fact that they were spending so much time alone, they needed nothing else to be at their happiest. Hermione yawned and stretched languidly on the reclining chair she'd dragged in from the garden to rest on. The action drew Harry's eyes to her form, her body displayed starkly where her top stretched tight against her flesh. She looked up, catching Harry in the act of looking, surprised slightly by the wanton expression she found in his eyes. She threw him a smoky look in return.

"It's late," she said. "We should think about getting some rest. We are going to need to be well energised to tackle the Weasley Clock tomorrow."

"Yeah, you're right," said Harry, feeling the weariness all of a sudden.

He shifted in his seat and chanced a brief look at Hermione.

"So, I'll...er...just take the sofa then."

Hermione gave him a very old-fashioned look. "Are you having a laugh? You're coming to bed with me."

Harry would never be able to tell her how much her 'being bossy' side turned him on. But he tried to reign it in.

"Hermione...I don't think its appropriate. Your parents -"

"Are in Nottingham...for a dental conference. _All_ weekend."

Hermione clearly thought this last part was an important detail. Harry shivered pleasantly at what that meant.

"And if you think you're not shagging me in my own bed, you must have rocks in your head," Hermione added as an afterthought.

Harry's jaw hit the carpet. This, he suspected, was why he didn't hear it bounce.

"The amount of times I've fantasised about _that_ ," Hermione continued, blissfully ignorant of the earthquake she'd just caused in Harry's mind. "Well - you probably wouldn't believe it. But you'd _better_ believe that's a fantasy you're going to make come true. Besides," she purred seductively, stroking his arm. "You wouldn't want me upstairs playing with myself, while you try and get comfy on our little sofa, would you?"

Harry didn't have a clue where this sex kitten side of Hermione had been hiding all these years, but he thanked Merlin that he was lucky enough to get to meet her. He was so aroused he felt his magic surge out of him again. He struggled to contain himself.

"Y-you...you fantasised about me?"

"Only all the time," said Hermione simply. "I invented at least a dozen scenarios that involved you somehow staying with me, which would lead to me having my wicked way with you. Sometimes for just one night, sometimes the whole Summer holidays. And they were all pretty sordid, I'll have you know. I might not look it, but my imagination is _vivid_ where you are concerned _._ Do you remember that Christmas where Dumbledore sent me to get you from the attic of Grimmauld Place?"

"Of course," said Harry, gulping and trying again to hold his throbbing magic. He didn't know where this was going, but he couldn't get these new images of Hermione from his mind. It was deliciously distracting. "I remember how cute you looked with snow still in your hair."

"I was so worried about you, I rushed right up when I arrived," Hermione explained. "Anyway, there was a plan in place for us to take you somewhere, if you didn't want to see the Weasleys. The Leaky Cauldron or my house were the two options. Dumbledore was going to speak to my parents about it, but then I was able to talk you round. It's probably the most angry I've ever been with myself. I was making up seduction plans even as I was packing away my ski gear."

"And you never told me any of this?"

"Oh, it was all a fantasy, Harry!" Hermione cried passionately. "As soon as I saw you I knew my courage would fail. I didn't know _those two_ would be waiting when I got you out of Buckbeak's room. I was amazed you actually spoke to me, considering you'd been avoiding everyone else. That gave me hope. I had an emergency plan to kiss you, if I couldn't convince you the attack on Arthur wasn't your fault. I thought it might be a pleasant distraction after all the negativity. That Christmas was probably the closest I ever came to thinking you might actually have fancied me back. That year, actually, I was close to doing something reckless with you. Until you started drooling over Cho. That _royally_ pissed me off, do you know?"

"I did think it strange that you were so interested in my love life...or failings therein," said Harry. "Merlin, we were so _dumb_ about everything, weren't we? I'm sorry, Hermione. Truly I am."

"It's as much my fault, if not more," said Hermione. "I _knew_ you were emotionally damaged, that you carried baggage with you most people our age wouldn't be able to handle. I didn't appreciate quite how deep it went, how thoroughly you were wounded. I followed tips from _Witch Weekly_ like you were just a standard, usual boy, when I should have just trusted my instincts."

"Tips?" asked Harry with a little smirk.

"Just pointers to gauge your interest level," said Hermione with a wave of her hand. "Paying you personal attention, trying to see if you were up for alone time with just me, that sort of thing. It kind of worked. You left Cho to meet me on Valentines Day - which I _totally_ squealed over by the way - but you didn't want to knit elf hats with me. I was beginning to understand. I started developing a decent strategy, till Voldemort sent you in pursuit of Sirius and it all went wrong."

They fell silent, such was the landmine topic Hermione had just broached. She looked worried, as if she'd touched a raw nerve. Harry smiled warmly at her.

"You were looking out for me even then," he said softly. "Thank you for that, for everything. I know I've never told you before, but I've always appreciated it. Why did you squeal?"

Hermione laughed, breaking the sombre air. "Are you mad? You left your date...on _Valentines Day..._ just because I'd asked you to. I didn't even tell you what for. You just came. I asked you, and you came, blowing of your date in the process. I barely slept that night thinking of what it might mean. Of what it _should_ have meant, if we were anything like a normal pair of teenagers."

Now Harry took a turn to laugh. "We are far from normal. It's not a bad thing. Normal is overrated. Even so, _normal_ teens would have definitely jumped into bed if they'd been alone in a tent for as long as we were. We missed a trick there."

"Most normal teens weren't being hunted by a mass murderer who had hidden pieces of his soul we'd been tasked to destroy," Hermione pointed out somewhat darkly.

"True, but a bit of blind fumbling might have been a nice change of pace."

Hermione fluttered her eyes at him. "Then take me upstairs and show me what I was missing."

Harry gulped. "Was that one of your fantasies?"

Hermione stood up and sauntered around the table. "Maybe. But one scenario had you taking me _on_ the stairs. We can start with that one if you like, but you'll have to catch me first."

She winked at him and darted from the conservatory. Harry grinned to himself, accepted the challenge, then took off in pursuit.

* * *

The message had been simple. _Drop what you are doing_ , _meet at this location in two days_. Two lines and a crude map, nothing more. But Harry and Hermione agreed to follow the instruction. They put the clock into Harry's Gringotts vault for safe keeping, albeit reluctantly, then returned to Hermione's house to wait out the next forty-eight hours.

They passed extremely slowly.

But pass they did. It was nearly midnight when Harry and Hermione reached the Staging Area set up by the Auror Corps. The Unspeakables, in concordance with their MI5 counterparts, had provided intelligence on the location of the place, known only as Hangar 13, and then retreated into the surrounding woodland to provide reconnaissance. The Aurors had arrived later, quickly establishing a forward base of operations within good sight of the former RAF facility and those housed inside.

Of which Ginevra Weasley was one.

Hermione pulled her cloak hood tight against the bracing night wind, tucking up close to Harry for support. He looked ready, set to purpose. His mind was locked on that spot inside the giant hangar when Ginny might be at that moment, Hermione was certain of that. He didn't need to say it, but little else would have turned him to such steel.

"Ah Harry, Hermione, welcome."

Kingsley Shacklebolt approached, a pair of burly Aurors flanking him.

"You're taking charge of this, Minister?" asked Harry, sounding surprised. "I didn't think you would."

"You forget, Harry, the Auror Corps was _decimated_ during the War," said Kingsley. "Most senior Aurors were captured or killed, or defected in some cases. I wouldn't trust anyone but myself with something as important as this. Besides, being Minister is _stuffy -_ call it my prerogative to get back into the field."

Harry grinned darkly at that. "So, this is the place?"

Kingsley nodded. "Mrs Fleur Weasley gave us great intel. We have been monitoring the Osterley Owl Post Box ever since you gave us the location. It turns out that it is the central contact point between the Muggles and Magicals involved in this plot. Ginevra Weasley may not risk coming out of the compound, but others do. And not just on _our_ side.

"MI5 have been tracking this plot too. They have had their eyes on a few dirty Agents of their own. And we simply tracked any owl mail leaving the Ministry heading for this area. We are still operating on a war footing, don't forget. Everything in or out of the Ministry is getting vetted. It was simply a case of watching and waiting."

"And the Muggle Secret Service led you here?" asked Hermione, curiously.

"Don't look so surprised, Miss Granger," Kingsley replied. "Muggles and Magicals are plotting deviously together towards ends that the good elements in both our worlds wish to put a stop to. Our War allowed this plot to develop rapidly without us having any means to disrupt it. It only follows that our combined security forces should work together to foil these terrorists."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Harry, his wand snapping into his hand and coating them all in his restless magic. Even Kingsley raised an eyebrow at its potency. "What? I've spent _seven years_ fighting in one way or another. I'm done with it. I deserve a rest, a break from all this. I've done my bit, killing Voldemort. I'm _owed_ a period of peace and quiet. The Weasleys are all that stand in the way of that. So I want one of them dealt with...and I want it tonight."

Hermione felt herself steel at Harry's words, her willow and unicorn wand mirroring his action and jumping to her fingers. Their magic surged and mixed and soaked all around in the ferocity of their intent. Hermione looked at Harry in a firm show of support.

"Then that's what you'll get," she seethed. "Come on...let's hunt some Weasley."


	21. Hangar 13

The Royal Air Force base was known by the codename RAF Driftwaters, but it was not marked on any map or ordnance survey. Ministry of Defence records made no mention of it, and military top brass would scrupulously deny the place even existed.

But here were Harry and Hermione, literally _at it._

The reason for the secrecy soon became clear. During the Muggle Cold War, the base was home to a fleet of stealth aircraft armed with tactical nuclear warheads. They were within easy reach of Soviet states in Europe and could have been deployed with the most basic of commands should the need have arisen. Thankfully for the world, such a scenario never materialised, but the _material_ these aircraft carried had left an indelible mark on the surrounding area.

"Geiger Counter," an MI5 Agent explained, as Harry searched around for the source of a strange clicking noise that was annoying him. The Agent showed Harry the hand-held device. "Tests for radiation levels. If they get too high we will need to take steps to reduce our exposure."

"How can the people inside be safe?" asked Hermione, leaning over Harry's shoulder to look at the Geiger Counter. "If there is still so much radiation here?"

The Agent gave her a nonplussed look. "You tell me…you're the ones who can use magic."

Harry gasped. "Magical protection…against _nuclear_ attack…that's what they are working on here?"

"One of the projects we suspect," said the Agent. "I don't think I need to illustrate the advantage that would give whoever possessed such a thing…or what it might lead to."

"War? You think they are plotting a nuclear war?" asked Hermione, aghast.

"We have a Conservative government that flirts so much with the far right-wing of politics that it's frightening," the Agent replied. "There are those who yearn for a return to the days of imperialism - when Britain was important and powerful. What better way than to bring the world to its knees, to make them bow in front of a Britain protected from the most devastating weapons the rest of the world could throw at it?"

"Bastards," Harry seethed. "And magicals are helping them do it! Promised great riches in a New British Order, no doubt. What the hell is wrong with people?"

"Who knows, but they wont get away with it," said Hermione staunchly. "We will put an end to their plans tonight. But how do we get in?"

"We must approach with caution," Kingsley warned. "The place will likely be guarded by Muggle and Magical protection of a kind we may not have encountered before. And then there are the terms of international law."

"What terms?" Harry spat, rounding on Kingsley in the dark.

"We are forbidden from using offensive magic against Muggles," Kingsley replied. "Violation carries a severe sentence."

"But you are the _Minister for Magic_!" Harry cried. "Can't you suspend that rule for special circumstances or something?"

"Law doesn't work like that," said Kingsley. "In any case, I could not suspend the law if it _were_ in my remit as Minister…for it is a _Muggle_ law, not a magical one."

Harry looked at him agape for a good minute without understanding. "What do you mean…a _Muggle_ law? How can that be?"

Kingsley gave Harry a stern look. "I see you didn't pay much attention in History of Magic. I don't blame you…old Binns could bore the hind legs off a Thestral. But, if you had, you might have learned that there was a war between Muggles and Magicals a hundred and fifty years ago…and it was a war _we lost_."

It was Hermione's turn to gasp this time. "Muggles won a war against _magic_? How is that possible?"

"Weight of numbers," Kingsley replied simply. "That and the fact that bullets and explosives kill witches and wizards just as easily as they do other Muggles. International Magical Secrecy laws exist not just to hide us from Muggles…but to _protect us_ from them. If Muggles knew about magic they would all be looking for magical solutions to their problems. Do you not think that the more desperate and despotic among them would try to force that from us, if we didn't give it willingly?"

Harry felt as if he'd been hit by a brick hammer, right in the gut. Magic had always been a gift in his eyes, but he had always felt safe from Muggle threats since he learned to control it. Now he saw, for the first time, just how easily he could be targeted by the sinister elements of the Muggle world, the threat they could pose. Not just to him, but to Hermione too.

He'd never been more keen to keep those secrets in all his life. He knew he'd never be happy until he had provided Hermione with a sanctuary beyond all the threats that _both_ worlds could present to her. Suddenly, he felt as if he had a life goal.

One he would get to right away, once the Weasleys were dealt with.

"Okay, so we can't attack the Muggles," Harry bitched, feeling his wand was now little more use than a flimsy twig. "But they can attack _us_. What are we expected to fight back with? Harsh language?"

"Harry, don't be flippant," Hermione admonished crossly. "We can still use our wands, just not to attack the Muggles. We have to focus on the magical defences, leave the rest to MI5 and the SAS. I assume they are here too?"

Kingsley chuckled at that. "You really don't miss a trick, do you?"

"It's not something I've made a habit of," said Hermione haughtily, causing Harry to choke out a laugh. Hermione just shrugged at him; it wasn't as if she was _wrong_ in saying that.

"I'll be honest, I don't want you anywhere _near_ this," said Kingsley. "This is a matter for the Aurors and the SAS. We are trained for this."

"And _I'll_ be honest and tell you that I have about as much faith in your Aurors as I do that harsh language I mentioned just now," Harry fired back. "If Voldemort and a poor company of Death Eaters can wreak so much damage on you, then who's to say whatever is waiting in that Hangar wont do the same? No, sorry Minister, but the witch who nearly killed my soulmate is hiding in there. I'm going in to get her…and I'll fight anyone who tries to suggest otherwise."

"We both will," Hermione agreed sternly. "So include us in your plan, whatever it is. Er…what _is_ it?"

"We call it _shock and awe_ ," said the MI5 Agent. "On my signal we are going to pepper the base with sonic and light grenades. They will blind and knock out any guards on the ground and SAS snipers will take down the roof lookouts. Then we will storm the compound, take control of it and secure the place.

"It will then be your job, Shacklebolt, to deal with whatever magic we find inside. We have to assume they will have protocols in place to defend it with whatever they have, so we must be ready."

"My Aurors have been well briefed," said Kingsley. "We are prepared for whatever awaits us."

"Then let's get this party started."

The Agent turned and began whispering orders into his walkie-talkie, as Kingsley drew Harry and Hermione off to one side.

"Look, I know how you fought in the War, and all of what that entailed," he began. "If you were anyone else, I wouldn't even let you be _here_. But my Aurors are the ones who survived the War, the elite of the Corps. This is their domain. I wont stop you coming with us, but you hang back, let us take care of any resistance. You're still just kids, extraordinary ones perhaps, but don't take any unnecessary risks. Are we clear?"

Harry looked at Hermione, and decided for them. "Okay. Nothing reckless."

"Agreed," Hermione nodded. "But whatever happens, Ginny Weasley is _our_ business. We get first crack at her…no arguments."

Kingsley grinned at them in the dark. "Who am I to argue with the Hero of the Second War and the Brightest Witch of the Age?"

They shared a grim look of understanding…then set to their fell task.

* * *

When the first explosions went off, their intensity was such that they even caused ripples in the Shield Charm Kingsley had cast around them. Harry had barely time to register that when he heard the distinctive _pop pop_ of sniper fire pierce the air. He could only assume the roof guards had been taken out, as the whole courtyard was shrouded in the grey clouds of a dozen smoke bombs, obscuring the compound from view. But then the assembled Auror and SAS task force suddenly surged forwards as one, wands and rifles drawn alongside one another.

It was a sight so bizarre that it would rank up near the top of a list of any such sights Harry Potter would ever witness in his whole life.

And that really was saying something. It was certainly one he never thought he'd ever see. But here it was, so he raced forwards behind them, Hermione tight on his heels. He was singularly eager to keep her close, suddenly fraught with the danger around them now the operation had started. He kept his wand out in front, ready to cast protective spells if needed.

But he couldn't help but tingle at the flood of adrenaline as it coursed through him. Ginny was close by, coming more within his grasp with every step. It was only now that he realised how much he wanted to punish her, only now that the reckoning was so close that he let that floodgate of fear open into his heart. Hermione had been so close to dying, of leaving him for good. Leaving him before he ever had a chance to experience this wonder with her, of knowing what it was to love and truly _be_ loved. Ginny Weasley had nearly cost him all of that, and everything else that it promised.

An anger rose in Harry such as he'd never known. Not once in his relentless pursuit of Voldemort had he ever felt such pure loathing, even for him. He hadn't known Tom Riddle, hadn't ever known his parents enough to truly experience that sense of fundamental loss at the death of a loved one. He was angry at the idea of the monster who had done it, but even after his resurrection he didn't feel this level of hatred. He just sought the revenge he convinced himself he was owed, that the Prophecy had allowed him to take.

But this was different. He had known Ginny Weasley somewhat, had grown up with her, enjoyed a brief and now-despised fling with her. A sickness roiled in Harry's gut at the notion, coiled and uncoiled like a vile serpent that might never be subdued. Harry could never take back what had happened between them, it might haunt him for the rest of his days. And he almost lost Hermione to this petulant witch…almost lost the love of his life to her spite and jealousy.

And in that moment Harry knew what it truly was to hate. Not to be angry, not to rant and rage in even the most powerful of upsets…but to viciously and utterly _hate_ another human being. To wish for their destruction in the most terrible and painful of ways.

Ways he was now mindless to visit on Ginny Weasley…he just had to find her.

Then the doors to Hangar 13 were flung open ahead of them as they stormed into the compound. For a second, there was nothing but silence, then a cold unlike any Harry had known shot at them with a deafening rush of air. It engulfed them in an icy cloud; Harry felt it pierce his body through his very pores and creep through his veins like frozen tendrils. It was a cold that stole his breath and his mind. He felt his eyes roll back into his head, heard Hermione call his name somewhere in that dense, dark mist…then he lost consciousness and collapsed.

* * *

Harry blinked and looked up. It was still dark, but the cold had gone. And the concrete floor, which had looked so unyielding as Harry's face approached it, had been replaced by a soft, fluffy carpet.

That was odd.

Harry sat up and pushed his glasses back along his nose. The left lens had cracked, he would have to get Hermione to fix it later. She liked doing that spell. _Hermione!_ Where was she? Harry tried to remember, but holding the memory of her steady was like trying to retain details of a dream. He knew vaguely that she might be in danger, but he couldn't say from what.

One thing was for sure, he had to help her. His imperative for this action, however, was oddly subdued. He was fascinated by where he was, a place he was sure he'd never visited but found strangely familiar all the same. It was consuming his active thoughts. He stood and took a better look around.

He was in a hallway, at the base of the stairs in a comfortable house. It had a warm feel, cosy. It was a family home, Harry felt certain of that, though he couldn't have explained how. He just did. He moved along the hallway to the kitchen. The table was set there ready for dinner and a stew was simmering away on the hob. It smelled delicious, and Harry, again, was hit by a powerful sense that he'd been here before. That aroma was tantalisingly familiar. Maybe they'd served it at Hogwarts, he thought. But somehow, that didn't feel right.

Harry looked around the kitchen. There were two places set at the table, and a high chair pushed in on one side. So there was a child here. Harry smirked that he'd been right about the family-feel to the place. A single candle was sat at the center of the table, next to a red rose in a thin vase, and two wine glasses. It was set for a nice romantic family evening. Harry felt a pang of longing, wishing that he had set this up for Hermione, and was simply waiting for her to come home from work so he could treat her.

He smiled, filed the idea into the back of his mind for later, and moved to look at a moving photo on the corkboard near the door.

So this was a _magical_ house. That was curious. In the dimmed light, Harry struggled to make out the subjects in the picture. He leant in for a closer look. He saw a toddler, clearly the child of the house, clapping merrily as a toy broom whizzed round and around him. A bottle-tailed ginger cat - that looked suspiciously like Hermione's Crookshanks - darted around trying to catch the broom, much to the amusement of the baby boy in the picture. Harry smiled fondly at the scene, before looking up at the pretty woman laughing in the background.

And his eyes met his own mother's, as she looked directly at him with a little wave.

Harry fell back in his astonishment, clutching at his heart, now thudding painfully beneath his ribs. He barely had time to register his shock, when suddenly the front door to the house was wrenched open roughly before being slammed shut, shaking the walls of the house. The action caused a baby upstairs to begin crying at the loud noise.

"Lily! Lily! Where are you?!"

Harry felt as if a bucket of ice had cascaded into his soul, as his father's desperately frantic voice reached his ears, freezing him in place. He was in a sort of stupor, vaguely aware of where he was and what was about to happen, but powerless to do anything but watch it play out. He felt some invisible force drag him back into the hall, where his father was pulling off his cloak at the foot of the stairs.

"James? What is it? What's wrong?" asked Lily, taking a few steps from the landing, cooing to the weeping baby Harry on her shoulder.

" _He's_ here! He's found the house…Peter has betrayed us," said James, his voice cracking as Harry's entire body shivered in unimaginable terror.

"Oh James… _James!"_ Lily cried in utter fright, the sound breaking Harry's heart into a million pieces. "Do we have time to call Frank and Alice?"

"Frank and Alice have been attacked by the Lestranges," James returned darkly. "If they are lucky, they are dead. I only hope Remus and Pomona got to little Neville in time…"

There was an almighty crash in the garden, drawing James' eye. "He's broken through the outer ward."

"James!" Lily cried desperately, tears racing down her cheeks. "Our baby…we can't let him hurt our baby!"

"I know, I know," said James shakily. "But I don't know how we can escape…the Death Eaters have erected an anti-Disapparition field around the house…"

The walls suddenly shook as a volley of powerful spells began hitting the front door. James drew his wand. Harry felt his heart miss a beat somewhere in his chest. He had stopped breathing already. He wanted to move, to cry out, to do _anything_ …but he was utterly paralysed.

"Take Harry," said James firmly. "Take Harry and go! I'll try and draw him away…"

"James…I love you…"

"I love you," James replied, the words empowering him so much his wand pulsed with ferocious magic. "Now take Harry and run! I'll hold him off as long as I can…"

"Dad!" Harry cried, collapsing into a heap as the door was blasted off its hinges. He curled up into a ball and covered his eyes with his hood. He couldn't bear to see. He plugged his fingers into his ears to block out the screams, the cries, the evil in that high pitched tone…he couldn't go through this...not again...

Then another voice…softer, closer… " _Get up, Harry."_

The sound infused him like Phoenix song. He felt emboldened a moment, brave enough to open his eyes. He blinked in surprise as he saw a woman looking down at him. She had soft, watery eyes and milky skin, with electric blue hair that stretched right to her waist. Harry recognised the hair colour, but it didn't make any sense.

"Solaria?"

The woman smiled down at him. "Hello, Harry."

"What…how is this possible?" Harry stuttered back. "You're a _phoenix_!"

Solaria smiled yet more broadly. "How narrow your kind thinks. It's a failing of the species. Your Hermione understands…that's why I chose her."

Hermione. The mention of her stirred Harry again, enough to pull him into a sitting position. "What does she know?"

"Many, many things," Solaria hummed. "As you well know. But if you need to know about me…simply ask _her."_

Harry took the inference right away. He felt his mind relax and he reached deep into himself, for that signature, so warm and comforting, that was Hermione in his soul. He found it, and asked himself the question again. The reply astonished him, making him feel instantly ashamed of his ignorance and arrogance.

"You have a human form!" Harry hushed. "Just like witches and wizards have animal spirits, animals have _human_ versions! You are natural Animagi!"

Solaria grinned as she nodded confirmation. "All sentient magical creatures have this potential, but most choose not to pursue it. There is a freedom in our animalistic nature that the confines of humanity simply thwarts. Not just in body, but in the constructs and cultures your society has built. Animals are not slaves to money and celebrity…but being able to transform is a useful skill."

"But…we aren't in the real world," Harry mused. "This is a memory - one of my worst."

Solaria looked around sadly. "Yes. The murder of your parents. The single night that defined so much of your own life, set in place so many of your heart's desires. A source of your greatest loss, and most profound terror."

"How did I get here?" asked Harry. "I can't remember."

"Genetically-enhanced Dementors caused this paralysis," Solaria explained. "You have a unique weakness to Dementors that goes far beyond merely being affected by their dark powers. Perhaps one day, you and I and Hermione too, can face this cause and defeat it for good."

"Genetically-enhanced…oh yes…" Harry breathed, memory now cascading into his mind. "Now I remember…the _hangar_ , the fight…but - is it still going on?"

Solaria nodded. The dark expression which crossed her eyes stoked an imperative in Harry that roused him to his feet.

"Hermione…she's in danger, isn't she?"

"The gravest," said Solaria. "She lost you in the confusion of the melee in the hangar. She is trying to find the Weasley witch, but she isn't thinking clearly as she is so afraid for you. She's painted a target on her back."

"A target that Ginevra is homing in on."

Harry span like a top at the sound of a new voice. It was like an elixir, warm honey slipping into the very centre of him. He looked up the stairs, to see the auburn hair of his mother emerge from the gloom as she made her way slowly down the steps. Harry was mesmerised, captivated a moment.

"Mum!…I…I..."

There were a thousand things Harry wanted to say, that he thought he _would_ say in this moment. But right now, he couldn't fix on a single one of them. His heart was jammed in his throat, beating strongly and furiously, holding all his words at bay.

"I…I'm sorry, Harry, my love," Lily whispered. "So, so sorry."

Harry was startled by that. It shook him back to life.

"Sorry? For what? I don't understand? Surely not for _this?"_

Harry gestured around at the scene before them, the carnage Voldemort had wrought on the narrow hallway.

"No, not this," said Lily, her tone unexpectedly playful. "That was all your father's fault. Picking Peter as a Secret Keeper. I _knew_ I should have insisted on Sirius, but your father thought he was being especially clever as usual. You Potter men…you need a good witch to reign you in!"

Harry guffawed at that. She wasn't wrong. "And I've gone and gotten one of the best, Mum. What do you think of her?"

Lily beamed widely. "She's so bright and lovely, and utterly devoted to you. I completely and wholeheartedly approve. And I owe her all my love and thanks, for looking after you so diligently all these years. You will tell her for me, wont you?"

Harry nodded, gulping hard as his heart tried to return to his throat. His mother giving such approval of Hermione…of the visceral voicing of all that Hermione had done for him in his life, all that she would continue to do…it was all the validation Harry would ever need. But still…

"Though why are you sorry? I don't get it."

"I'm sorry for forgetting just how much guidance you need…from _her_ ," said Lily, reaching the foot of the stairs now. She reached out and tenderly brushed Harry's hair. "You have been so brave, so reckless…but without Hermione you would have failed in your task. And I forgot that at the crucial moment. That's why I'm sorry."

"What crucial moment?" asked Harry, growing more perplexed by the second.

"In the Forest, when we came out of the Resurrection Stone," Lily explained. "I was so happy to see you, I didn't even think of what we were doing. I just went along with your father, and Sirius and Remus. We led you to your _death_. Even now, I cant forgive myself for doing it. After all we'd done to keep you alive, to just march you into the line of Tom Riddle's wand…what was I _thinking_ …my lovely boy, my _only_ boy…"

Harry felt a chill run through him, the memory of that night still fresh and vivid in his mind. His mother's pale expression merely intensified the feeling, paralysing him greater than any Dementor ever could.

"We were only doing what Dumbledore said…" Harry mumbled. "He was just…"

" _Guessing!_ That's all he was doing!" Lily cried passionately. "He was trusting his own arrogance that he'd be proven right. That he _was_ right was simply lucky! It doesn't excuse his actions. He could have told you that you'd survive the curse, spared you from the fear. But no, he let you believe you'd die in that Forest…and he coerced us into helping you. I always thought he cast some sort of enchantment on us, too, for we were not able to do anything but follow his plan. If we had been, maybe I'd have seen sense."

"And done what?"

"Sent you back to Hermione!" Lily replied hotly. "You always listened to her advice, even if it was sometimes hard to hear. She'd never led you astray...and there is no way on Merlin's magical Earth that she'd have let you go to the Forest alone, had she known that's what you were planning. She would have found out more, done whatever she could to protect you. That's why I'm so proud to call her my daughter-in-law…I couldn't wish for a better partner for you, Harry. She loves you more powerfully than anything I've ever known, and she's never let you down or not been there for you.

"Not even your father or I could make that claim."

Harry was choked beyond words. He had been liked in his life, revered and admired by faceless masses. But to know he was so loved, to feel it so keenly from the one person he felt the same for, made Harry feel like the most blessed wizard who'd ever lived.

"I love you, Mum, and Dad too," said Harry eventually, mastering himself. "There was nothing you could have done against the power of Tom Riddle, and if I ever find out that Dumbledore manipulated you in any way he will have me to answer to. But you _can_ help me get back to Hermione…I need you to show me the way out of here."

Lily smiled. "Solaria and I will do more than that…we will _protect_ you from the Dementors when you get there."

Harry looked around, startled. "You know about Solaria?"

"Of course," Lily smiled. "The Phoenix power in you comes from _me_."

Harry stared open mouthed. "How is that possible? Hermione said it was a Potter thing?"

Lily laughed. "Your Hermione is frighteningly bright, but sometimes she has a tendency to overlook the basics. I may have been a first generation witch, but as that merely proves, everything has to start somewhere."

"Ah," said Harry, nodding in understanding. "So the phoenix power was _born_ in you!"

"Exactly," said Lily. "The spirit of the phoenix chose me, a Muggleborn with just the right mix of attributes, and ignited the dormant magical force within me. This gift I passed to you. Your wand would always have contained a phoenix feather core, attracted by kindred power. The uniqueness of your connection with Tom Riddle, and Fawkes, and the Prophecy took care of the finer details."

"And now this power has manifested as me," Solaria added, swinging her astonishing mane of hair. "I am the embodiment of not only Hermione's resurrection but of _both_ yours…from your false mode of being, as lost individuals, to your harmonious state as a perfect, complimentary couple. Hermione has already come across the meaning in her alchemical research…now you have a lifetime to explore what that really means."

"Then I have to get back to her," said Harry, bringing himself up to his full height. "How do I get there?"

"You have to throw off the effect of the Dementors," said Lily. "They have crippled you by igniting fear and darkness within you. Fight it with light and love. Pool all you love, for me, for your father, for Hermione…push it way down, then let it explode."

"Part of my spirit resides in your wand, Harry," said Solaria. "Seek it out, let me cast the most powerful Patronus you can muster…and drive away these dark forces."

Harry nodded. "But, one thing first…"

Harry stepped around Solaria and looked into the living room. There, held in a bizarre freeze-frame of time, was the raging battle between Tom Riddle and James Potter. James was shielding himself behind the upturned coffee table…Tom Riddle's Avada Kedavra flying his way, the green curse tail still hanging in the air…

"It's so strange, to see it frozen like this," said Harry curiously. He stepped forwards and passed his hand through the green beam. "Did he…did _it_ go on much longer after this?"

"Not much longer, maybe five minutes or so," said Lily, sadly. "James was so brave…but Lord Voldemort was just too powerful, too corrupted. I'm not sure any normal wizard could have beaten him."

"So you're saying I was abnormal from the start!?" Harry teased. "Thanks, Mum!"

"Less of your sass, young man," Lily returned evenly. "Or I'll get Hermione to discipline you."

Harry didn't trust himself to answer that cleanly. So instead he took a steadying breath, turned to Solaria and said, "I'm ready."

They joined hands, Harry closed his eyes, and slipped back into that suffocating darkness.

* * *

Hermione raced around frantically, trying to avoid the failing bodies and ricochetting bullets flying all around her. She dipped her head behind a large stanchion just as a consignment of SAS soldiers charged past, engaged in a furious fire-fight with the Hangar 13 security forces. Hermione was mindlessly afraid; she liked order and control.

This tactic of shock and awe was anything but that.

Then there was Harry, lost somewhere in the mist of gun smoke and the inky blackness given off by the Dementors. Hermione had been buffeted away by the surging crowd, and when she found her way back Harry wasn't where she'd seen him fall. She could only hope that he'd been dragged off to safety…the _other_ possibility was just too chilling to even consider.

He wasn't dead, Hermione was comfortably certain of that. She still felt a sort of warmth along that invisible cord between them, which is how she imagined their Phoenix connection would manifest. Harry, wherever he was hidden from her sight, was still alive at the other end of it. His heart was still beating, pulsing in a steady throb along their personal tether and stirring Hermione to action.

After all, they'd come here as a power _couple_ to apprehend Ginny. And it just wouldn't do if Hermione couldn't take up the mantle Harry had left to her.

So she darted around, dodging the pockets of fighting as lithely as she could. She was quite impressed with her body for allowing the movement, and not complaining nearly as much as it ought to about the exertion. She wasn't anything like fully healed, after all. So she ducked in and out of shadows, along rows of computer banks and lab stations, all the while searching for her quarry.

She had a vague sort of sense of where she was going. The air just felt different in certain directions, as though charged with a magnetic energy that spoke to her magical self. Hermione allowed herself to be guided by instinct, which wasn't something she usually did. This was distinctly a _Harry_ thing, and she felt warmed and buoyed by the sensation, as though he were alive in her very mind.

So she let Harry's spirit lead her, through this maze of abused Muggle artefacts, right to the back end of the hangar. The atmosphere was somehow quieter here, the cool air still and subdued. Hermione felt the silence prickle on her skin, as though on the edge of anticipation. The noise of the fighting behind had died down, too, the battle must be practically won.

But there was still magic to contend with.

A volley of spells abruptly rent the air in front of Hermione. She dived to the floor on instinct, but the spells merely collided with a powerful Shield Charm that had been cast across her. She watched the spells dissipate against the shimmering shield, then turned her head to see a furious Kingsley Shacklebolt stalk forwards with his wand held aloft. A dozen Aurors fanned out around him and began firing an array of curses into the darkness ahead.

The magicals hiding there cried out, and cursed, and scattered, some falling to the Auror's spells. Hermione rolled away as the Aurors raced on and vaulted her, taking up the task of subduing the wizards running from them in all directions. Hermione pulled herself to her feet, scanning the mass for a glimpse of the red hair that she was hunting. She pinned her eyes and swept her gaze around, but the bitter face of the youngest Weasley child eluded her.

And then…from behind...

"Looking for me, Mudblood bitch!"

Hermione span in time to see Ginny flick her wand angrily at her turned back. She didn't have a chance to react, at least not on her own. But her wand arm was suddenly tugged up with some force, and a spell erupted from it, joining with one that was flying from somewhere over her head. The spells merged and bonded in a brilliant flash of light, then transformed into a giant silvery phoenix, which swallowed Ginny's curse in one mouthful. Then it sped at her, gripping her shoulders in its powerful talons, before flinging her with some considerable force into the side of a steel cage nearby.

" _Harry!"_

Hermione called out in utter glee. She was saved! Safe now that Harry was thundering up into the fight. He gave her one, appraising look as he reached her side. They nodded in silent agreement, took up their wands again and advanced on Ginny with matching strides.

Ginny watched their approach with terrified eyes. The impact with the cage had broken her arm, and her wand was lost somewhere in the debris all around them. Hermione was slightly disappointed - she'd wanted more of a fight from Ginny. There was something anti-climactic about this pathetic, whimpering version cowering before them. Seeing her hated face so afraid was one thing…but Hermione was rueful that she hadn't been the one to put that fear there herself.

Just then, there was an almighty roar from inside the cage. Then another, then another. At least six burst out, along with the sound of heavy, rattling chains as they were ripped from the floor. Then the sounds of flapping wings tore the air apart, and a gout of fire collided with a shield charm built into the cage.

" _Dragons!"_ Harry breathed angrily. "What have these bastards been up to now?"

"Stay back! Or we'll all find out!" Ginny cried out.

Hermione looked at the red-headed wench…and froze in horror. For Ginny had her hands on the lock to the dragon pen. She looked maliciously into Hermione's eyes.

"Don't take another step! Or I'll let these beasts loose right in your face!"

"Ginny! Don't be stupid!" Harry yelled, as the dragons roared yet more powerfully in their cage. "You'll kill us all!"

"Maybe," said Ginny, her tone betraying her desperation. "But perhaps they'll just get _you lot_ in the initial rush, I might escape. If not, I'll die happy knowing that Mudblood slag was taken out with me!"

"Ginny, no!" Hermione screamed, her terror for Harry consuming her every nuance. "If it's me you want, then let's do it. Just you versus me. Let Harry go…let everyone else go."

"Hermione…what are you doing?" Harry roared.

"Witches Duel," Hermione shouted to Ginny, ignoring Harry completely. "Just me and you. You win, you go free. Ron too."

Ginny looked cautiously at Hermione, trying to work out if it was a trap. "Harry will never go along with that. If I kill you, Harry will hunt me down for the rest of my life. Doesn't sound much like freedom to me."

"Harry will do as he's told," said Hermione.

"No, Harry will _not_ ," Harry protested. "Hermione…"

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "Shut up and let me take care of this. Witches Duel…you'll be my Second, but not to take over…just to carry out my wishes. Swear to it Harry…if you love me, you'll do as I ask."

"That isn't fair! You can't ask me to…"

"I'm not _asking_ …I'm _telling_!" Hermione cried passionately. "We have nothing to worry about. I could take this little slut with my eyes closed!"

"Deal! I'll do it!" Ginny spat angrily, riled by Hermione's goading. "I wont even _need_ a Second. I'll make quick work of a filthy-blooded tramp like you!"

"Harry…agree, please," Hermione implored lowly, so that only Harry could hear. "This is what I want…and I wont take no for an answer. Do this for me…call it a late engagement present!"

Harry took a series of steadying breaths, staring hard into Hermione's eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. The oath of combat settled on the three of them like a heavy mist.

"It's done then," said Kingsley, stepping into the fray. "Witches Duel. Ginevra - as the one challenged you may pick the location."

"Circle Square, magical London," said Ginny acidly. "The International Duelling Arena. Get the press there, too. Let's do this properly. I want the world to see me wipe the floor with this piece of low-born trash."

"Agreed," said Hermione. "Oh, and fix her injured arm. I want her at full strength, so that when I annihilate her, it will put to bed all the nonsense that in-bred Purebloods are somehow more powerful than the rest of magical kind. I will show the world how much of a joke that is…and how much of a joke the family of Weasley is to boot."

"Very well," said Kingsley. "We shall set up the duel for midday tomorrow. As per the terms of Accepted Combat, neither will be able to cast aggressive spells against the other outside of the Duelling Arena. I will escort Ginevra to London tonight and deliver her to the Arena first thing in the morning, once the necessary arrangements are in place. Hermione - take Harry to get some rest. He looks like hell."


	22. The Witches Duel

"Here...drink this, it'll help."

Harry took the mug of steaming liquid Hermione was offering him, and sniffed at its creamy head.

"What is it?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Just hot chocolate, Harry," Hermione replied. "Made with boiled cream and squirty cream on top and melted chocolate chips inside. It's how my mum used to make it for me. It will help with the after-effects from the Dementors."

"I'm alright, honest," Harry lied, not quite meeting Hermione's eye.

Hermione merely stared blankly at him. "I _know_ that's not true, Harry. I wouldn't need any special bond with you to work it out. You're very pale, and clammy as hell. Now...drink up. You'll feel a load better if you do, I promise."

Harry shrugged and took a tentative sip. Actually, it was really quite good. Drinking was made difficult by his hands, which he noticed then were shaking rather badly. He scoffed at his own weakness, willing his fingers to behave themselves. He hoped Hermione couldn't see, but one glance at her pained expression told him he was out of luck.

"You're finding this really hard to throw off, aren't you?" she asked softly.

Harry didn't answer right away. He took another swig of hot chocolate, feeling it warm his insides right down to his belly. It eased his shivering a bit, but not as much as chocolate usually did after a Dementor attack.

"They were no ordinary Dementors we faced today," said Harry. "So ordinary cures will just take that little bit longer to work. I'll be okay, really I will."

Hermione looked doubtful, but knew it was pointless to push Harry on the issue, which he was thankful for.

"In any case," he went on. "I _'_ m pretty used to dealing with my own darknesses. It isn't _me_ we need to worry about just now. We have to get you through this duel."

Hermione scoffed at him. "You don't _doubt_ me, do you?"

"Your power, of course not," said Harry. "But _duelling_...what possessed you to come up with that one?"

"Ginny was threatening to release six very angry-sounding dragons at you!" Hermione cried, hotly. "That was inducement enough, don't you think?"

Harry couldn't argue with that. "Okay...but even so...a duel..."

"Ginny's no more of a dueller than I am," Hermione replied blankly. "It's sauce for the goose as far as I can see. The odds will be even."

"But you made me your Second," Harry huffed. "I can't get involved. What if Ginny gets help, tries to get an outsider to cripple you or something?"

"The Rules of Combat prevent that," Hermione explained. "If either she or I attempt anything like that, the effect will happen to the other person. That was the appeal of a duel...I could lock Ginny into a combat situation with just me, or us at a push. That makes it advantage us, as far as I'm concerned."

"Maybe you're right," said Harry. "But we still need a strategy."

"You're worried," said Hermione, genuinely surprised. "Don't...don't you think I can beat her?"

Harry sipped his hot chocolate as he considered his response. "You are more powerful magically. That isn't it doubt. But Ginny is not only an athlete, but she's a sneaky, callous little hag. And she's got no problem playing dirty, as we've already seen. She's the type to use a bone-crushing curse over a Confundus Charm, that's all I'm saying. I'm worried that you're too _nice_ for a straight up fight."

Hermione looked hurt, stung by Harry's words. "After all we've been through...I would have thought I'd have gotten more support than that."

"You have my utmost support, you know you do," Harry argued fiercely. "But you aren't going into a melee, firing random spells and hoping for the best. You are going into a one-on-one fight...you're going to have to look Ginny Weasley right in the face as you cast at her. It's a world of difference, believe me. You aren't even going in to Stun...this is a proper _duel_. Someone is going to get hurt, and I just don't want it to be you."

"And you think it will be?"

"We'd be utterly stupid to ignore that possibility," said Harry bluntly. "And we both know that you aren't stupid."

Hermione huffed at that. "I can't pull out, Harry...the oath is binding."

"I never said anything about backing out," said Harry. "But we need to be prepared. You need to get your head into the worst place it's ever been...you need to approach this as Ginny will be...as facing a _mortal enemy_."

Harry saw Hermione shudder as the tangible reality of that settled in her mind, possibly for the first time since the combat oath had fallen on her.

"I taught you duelling spells back in the DA," Harry went on. "But I took inspiration from _Defence_ Against The Dark Arts...to win this we will need to add some _offence_ to your armoury."

Hermione smiled at him, buoyed by his tone of utter support. "I'm happy to be your pupil again."

"I was thinking more like _teacher's pet_ ," Harry grinned back. "And the first lesson is this - Defence is a book all about being moral and honourable. Ginny Weasley is neither of those things, so we need to throw that book away. Stand up, and draw your wand."

"Harry - you're still shaking from the Dementors," Hermione said, gently. "You don't have the strength to duel."

"I have strength enough for this," Harry returned evenly. "Besides, we won't be casting at each other."

Harry flicked his wand at Solaria's perch in the Head's Common Room, which is where he and Hermione had retreated after Hangar 13. The perch transformed into a straw mannequin, and the phoenix took flight with a series of angry, spitting squawks in Harry's direction. He raised his wand in a gesture of apology, but Solaria continued to pout at him from her new spot on the windowsill.

"Right, we need to arm you with some offensive intent," said Harry. "Don't think me too dark...but I effing _hate_ Ginny now. I wanted to rip her limb from limb before the Dementors took me out. We need to channel my rage, my anger, my hatred into _you._ Everything I'm carrying, all my guilt about the war, about murdering Tom Riddle, about losing Sirius and Dumbledore, about Ron and Ginny and all that goes with them. I have PTSD, I know that...but in you we have to make that mean _Put The Smack Down._

 _"_ Close your eyes...reach down into our Phoenix link...pull everything you can get from me...then cast a Severing Charm at the mannequin."

Hermione took a breath and did as Harry instructed. He felt her energy come close to his and for a moment he hesitated, kept her at arms length. He didn't want to let her fully in, to open up the abyss of darkness he welled inside. But he knew she'd know all about it eventually.

And if she could harness it to throw at Ginny Weasley then it might at least have some good purpose.

Harry gave himself to Hermione's prompting, watched her eyebrows rise as she interacted with the potency of Harry's inner demons for the first time, then she flicked her wand with very un-Hermione-ish aggression.

And the poor mannequin's head was sliced off viciously in one magical stroke.

"Wow...Harry! Just wow!" Hermione breathed as she opened her eyes. She looked at him deeply, a mix of cross and pitying. "That...that feeling...it was _ugly_ , Harry. Truly ugly."

Harry turned his eyes down reticently. "I know, I'm sorry. My road has been a dark one..."

Hermione crossed to him and eased his head back up with a gentle smile. "No matter how dark the road...you _light_ my way. Keep hold of that gloom for me...I want Ginny to feel every bit of it tomorrow. In fact, I want her to _have_ it."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see," said Hermione, her eyes glinting with uncharacteristic malice. "Don't forget, it wasn't _me_ who said I didn't have a plan..."

Harry could have swooned at her in that instant. There was something searingly hot about Hermione's cold side. One thing was for sure, Harry couldn't wait to see it unleashed tomorrow.

Ginny Weasley wouldn't know what hit her.

* * *

They arrived at the Arena at 11 o'clock. There was already a large crowd gathered outside waiting to be filed in for the event. How word had spread so fast was something of a surprise to Harry, but Hermione didn't seem to notice the throng of witches and wizards clamouring for a look at her. She was single-minded, focused beyond anything Harry had ever seen in her.

There was one thing he was certain of though...he was glad that _he_ wasn't the one going up against her.

For she was radiating such force that she seemed to be carrying an electric charge. Harry knew she'd spent much of the night in a semi-meditative state, siphoning off his own negative energy and absorbing it into herself. He actually felt lighter and chirpier than of late, as though Hermione had _physically_ removed some of his inner turmoil, cut it away as a surgeon slices off a tumour.

Harry wasn't sure how he really felt about that. He was familiar enough with his inner woes to know that Hermione was owed to be kept away from anything so baleful. But he hadn't been able to prevent it, given that she had a much greater command of their unique connection than he did just now. In any case, she was storehousing it as a weapon inside her, a powder keg of vicious energy that Ginny would do very well to survive. Harry wasn't about to stand in the way of that.

But he was worried about the potency of it. Hermione looked bunged up, as though holding in a giant sneeze, one that would decimate the poor soul it hit when she finally released it. Harry was a little concerned that it would damage Hermione in the process. But the thing was done, there was little to do but wait for the explosion.

Before that could happen, however, the formalities had to be settled. So practically as soon as Harry and Hermione had entered the cavernous Duelling Arena, they were being whisked right into the bowl-shaped dome basin to arrange the terms of combat.

It allowed Harry to get a good look around the place. The Arena was oval-shaped, with tiers of seating disappearing into gloomy mist high above. Harry couldn't even guess the amount of people it would hold, but there was already a healthy cluster of journalists and photographers gathered in the Press Area of the nearest stand. At the center of the bowl was a long duelling platform. It reminded Harry of a bowling alley, painted black with two lines of gold stars running along the edges. At each end, where the contestants would stand, was a picture of a silver wand with an exaggerated spell erupting from it.

Harry felt a cold chill pass over him at the sight. It simply reinforced the reality of what was happening, the risk Hermione was taking. But Harry admonished himself. Hermione needed his support right now, not his niggling doubt. She was going to be fine, he told himself, this is what she wanted. He trusted that she knew what she was doing. It was all going to turn out well.

Then Ginny Weasley entered the room from a door at the other end of the Arena floor. And it was all Harry could do to not run and cut her down on the spot.

Indeed, if the powerful restraints of the combat oath hadn't been holding him back, he felt sure this is what he would have done. As it was, Harry could do little but scowl at Ginny's smirking face as she crossed to them. She had scraped her hair back into a tight, unflattering ponytail and was wearing dragonhide duelling robes. She looked ready, mean and purposeful.

Oh how Harry despised her!

Hermione, meanwhile seemed unmoved by Ginny's battle-set look. She simply eyed her as if she were a particularly bothersome itch that she hadn't yet been able to scratch. She seemed more interested in Arthur Weasley, who was being led behind her by Kingsley Shacklebolt. She smirked at the sight and Harry copied her expression, for Arthur was in a tight magical bind, his wrists secured by shimmering magical manacles.

"You brought Arthur for a ringside seat?" Harry quipped to Kingsley. "That's just cruel."

"Mr Weasley will be taken to trial as soon as this is over," Kingsley explained. "But in the event of her defeat, Ginevra will also have to face summary judgement for her assault against Miss Granger. Her arrest warrant is still active, you know."

Hermione nodded at that. "Then that will be my first proposed term. When I win, Ginny will be tried in magical court. When found guilty, which she will be, I will press for her to spend her Azkaban term in maximum isolation. I want her to really _think_ about the mistake of attacking me, with no distractions."

Ginny spat acidly at Hermione's words. But a stocky wizard hurried to them from behind.

"Please talk into the loudspeaker," said the wizard. "The terms of the duel need to be on public record. We all need to hear."

"Who are you?" asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Anuerin Brink," the wizard replied. "Official referee of this duel. So please, speak loud and clearly when laying out the terms. Remember, of course, that duels to the death are illegal in Britain."

"But maiming is still permitted?" asked Hermione, lightly.

"Very much so," Brink replied with a malevolent smirk.

"Good," said Hermione. "Then this is what I propose..."

She repeated the earlier demand for Ginny to serve her punishment in solitary confinement in wizard prison. Harry liked that idea, it was a shrewd one from his future wife. Her next suggestions, however, made Harry distinctly uneasy.

"But now to the general terms," Hermione went on. "This duel is, primarily, the result of a burgeoning blood feud between the Family of Weasley and the Family of Potter. I am sure there are few among you who don't know that I am engaged to Harry Potter...engaged to be his wife. Oh, of course, silly me...do _you_ know, Ginevra? Harry asked me to marry him. Have you seen the ring he got me? It was _obscenely_ expensive."

Ginny growled at Hermione. Literally. A feral sort of snarl was born in her throat and seemed to seep out though her flared nostrils. Harry tried his utmost not to laugh at the sight.

"Oh, I see you _do_ know," Hermione smirked maliciously. "So much the better. But, as I was saying...the terms. This is what I offer - should you somehow triumph, Ginevra, in addition to dropping any sort of charges against yourself and your brother, Ron, I will consent to having my wand snapped, and to be sent into exile in a location of your choosing. There, I will live out my life alone and without magic. I will sign decrees to the purpose. I will not see another living soul ever again and will not perform even the most basic of magical acts."

Harry drew in a startled breath. "Hermione...no, you can't do that...it's too much -"

"I agree," said Ginny, her eyes glinting with dark triumph. "And, if by some freak act of nature, I _lose..._ what then?"

Hermione took a purposeful step closer. She eyed Ginny with such cold disdain that the youngest Weasley faltered in her self-confidence a moment. "Your Azkaban sentence first, your wand snapped on the way. And while you are alone in your cell, plagued by Dementors and bad dreams, you will consent to be _neutered."_

Harry's gasp this time was bigger than before. He chanced a look at Ginny and felt a surge of dark glee...for she looked actually afraid, for the first time. Hermione was playing with high stakes, this wasn't a childish game anymore. Harry was hit with an odd thought that Hermione's inevitable victory would begin here...with Ginny defeating _herself_. It was now, in this moment, that Ginevra Weasley first accepted the overwhelming superiority of the witch who would soon be Mrs Hermione Potter.

And she would forever be hamstrung by the revelation.

"Neu-neutered?" Ginny stammered. "What do you mean?"

"This is a _blood feud_ , but I'm not wholly convinced you truly understand what that actually means, what it is _you_ started," said Hermione simply. "You fired the opening salvo in a war when you attacked me, from _behind_...a war of your family versus _ours."_

She looked back with a deep smile at Harry, who nodded in support as Hermione continued.

"You tried to end our family, so we now intend to end yours," she said coldly. "As things stand, only your brother, Bill, is planning to produce offspring. We will allow that, as Fleur helped us find where you were hiding."

"Did she?" Ginny fumed, her anger flaring. "That snail-eating, baguette-fucking, French bitch! I'll get her for that."

"You are making enemies of a lot of witches far more powerful than you," Hermione taunted. "Your mouth is writing cheques your magic cant cash."

Ginny hissed at Hermione like an angry cat. "We'll see about that, Mudblood."

"Moving on," Hermione replied in a bored drawl. "Like I said, we will allow Bill to have children, as a thank you to Fleur. Your brother Charlie, I understand, is a raging homosexual with no interest in children. As for Ron, well...I can't speak with a _hundred percent certainty_ , but I'm reasonably sure my fiancé intends a medieval punishment for your brother, revenge for besmirching my honour when he cheated on me. Or else he will revive the old ways and invoke a severe punishment, when he defeats him as a rival suitor for my affections. What are we thinking, sweetheart, castration or impotency?"

Harry laughed out loud. "I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'll see how the mood takes me on the day!"

Ginny growled again, but Hermione ignored her. "That just leaves Percy and George Weasley, but we haven't decided what to do about them yet. In any case, I'm pretty sure we can persuade Fleur to get Bill to become a _Delacour_ , so that their children will carry that name. The Veela power is a strong inducement with that one. So, you see Ginny, once Harry and I are through with you and Ron...the whole Weasley _family_ will be through. The line will end, the family name extinguished. These are my terms...what do you say?"

"No, Ginny!" Arthur cried. "Don't accept..."

"Arthur! You have no say here!" Harry thundered. "The terms must be settled between my future wife and your dirty, shame of a womb-spawn. When I think of all the other little sperms who could have fertilised that poor egg in Molly's overworked gut...they had to let one produce this little skidmark on society..."

"I agree," Ginny barked, flushing furiously. "And when I put the Mudblood through the floor, I want you to be really close, Harry, so you can watch as I exile her. I want to see it in your eyes when you say goodbye for the last time..."

Hermione was roused by that, as though inspired by a passionate speech. She looked at Ginny with utter loathing.

"That is one thing that will _never_ happen," she hissed dangerously. "Harry and I will _never_ say goodbye. But I say it to you now...goodbye, Ginevra. When we meet again in an hour, I will _end_ you...and your family will be soon behind."

And with that Hermione turned and marched off the stage, her hair bouncing purposefully as Harry hurried to keep up in her wake.

* * *

By the time they re-emerged, the tottering stands were throbbing with people. It was astonishing how many had crammed inside in such a short space of time. Hermione felt a tingle of nerves as they made their way back towards the basin of the Arena, into a chorus of exited chatter and restless, tangible energy. It was chewy, an atmosphere thick with anticipation.

"Why are there so many people?" Hermione breathed to Harry, tugging on her own duelling robes to calm her flash of anxiety.

"It's a show," Harry replied through gritted teeth. He squeezed her hand tight, trying to pour his strength into her. "This is entertainment...probably the first thing anyone has been to since that bloody post-war celebration at Hogwarts. And as I'm a minor celebrity, that means _you_ are too. The name Potter is quite the draw, you know. You should see the unauthorised merchandise of me being sold on Diagon Alley..."

Harry's voice tailed off bitterly. He was scanning the crowd too, his eyes sweeping left and right as if checking for hidden threats. Hermione noticed Harry's hand in his robe, gripping his wand firmly. She couldn't help a brief wish that he would be up there beside her when the fight started. He locked eyes with her just then, burning passion in his deep emerald pools.

And Hermione was empowered by the sight. For Harry _would_ be there with her...she wasn't alone. She'd never be alone. Ever again. The idea swam in her breast, warming her all through. Harry looked so fierce, she had to be the same.

Then the chattering from the stands picked up rapidly, like a flock of noisy birds disturbed from slumber. Hermione saw Ginny re-enter the Arena and head straight for the Duelling Platform. She took a breath, swung another look at Harry, who nodded at her in a show of support, then Hermione mounted the three steps and reached the platform proper.

The crowd erupted as the two combatants made their way to the centre of the long runway. They didn't take their eyes from each other as they met in the middle, kept a few metres apart by Referee Brink. Cameras flashed, catcalls and cheers rang out in equal measure, and the referee reminded them of the few rules the duel still retained. Then each witch raised her wand in front of her face, bowed, and prepared to move back.

"Say goodbye to Harry when you get back there," Ginny sneered as they came up from their bows. "It's the last time you'll ever see him."

The notion flooded Hermione with electric ice and fierce anger. "You wish. Kiss your wand and your womb one last time...you won't be needing either once I'm done with you."

"Witches!" the referee called out in his magically-enhanced voice. "To your positions."

Hermione and Ginny both walked backwards along the platform, neither wanting to turn her back on the other. Soon, they were in place. The referee called for them to take up battle poses...then dropped his hand.

And the duel had begun.

Ginny cast first, taking Hermione by surprise with her speed. The spell hit Hermione squarely in the shoulder and she yelped at the sudden shock of pain as she dropped to a knee. Harry's cry of anguish nearby hurt nearly as much. Luckily, Ginny's spell hadn't been highly charged, quick-cast as it had been. Hermione allowed herself to feel the pain, rolled her shoulder to ease it, then popped back to her feet, which drew a raft of cheers from the crowd.

"Okay," Hermione huffed to herself. "One point to the Weasel. Pity we aren't playing for points. Let's see what you can take."

Hermione pulled up her sleeve, focused her power, drew a little rage from Harry, then unleashed a trio of blasting curses at Ginny. She deflected them with a shield charm, but the force pushed her back a foot or so. She fired off a jet of grey light in response, which Hermione easily dodged as she shot a cutting curse back at her. It hit Ginny in the hip and she howled out as her flesh was torn apart.

"Great shot!" Harry called out, whooping his support.

Hermione grinned, pleased with herself a moment. But in her distraction she missed a spell from Ginny, which hit her powerfully in the stomach, causing her to double up. Hermione stumbled, struggling for breath, just as a shower of little insects started biting at any piece of her exposed flesh, burning like acid wherever they stuck.

"Ouch! Ouch!" Hermione whined, as the creatures continued their assault. Then she realised what they were. "Bat Bogies! Urgh. Enough!"

Hermione focused again, cast a localised banishing hex and sent the little bogies flying off in all directions.

"That's the last spell you hit me with, bitch," Hermione hissed angrily. She stood up again, groaning at the aches in her stomach and shoulder. Ginny had advanced closer, apparently confident in closer combat. Hermione grinned devilishly. This was what she wanted. She moved forward herself, goading Ginny to attack again.

Which she did, only this time Hermione was ready. She cast a counter-spell to Ginny's curse, which seemed to _catch_ it in mid-air. As she did, Hermione tugged hard with her wand. The effect was to drag some of Ginny's energy with it. Ginny stumbled, stunned by her sudden drop in power. Hermione took full advantage, firing off three hammering spells, hitting Ginny firmly in the waist, chest, then finally full in the mouth. She toppled to the ground with a screech of agony.

And Hermione advanced again. She knew that aside from rendering an opponent unable to defend themselves through injury, reaching them and taking their wand was enough to declare victory. But she didn't want a points decision...it was a knockout blow or nothing. She stalked forward with purposeful menace. She wanted Ginny to get back to her feet, to fight on a bit longer.

Ginny was nothing if not obliging. Struggling to her knees, she unloaded a series of spells from under her arm. Hermione deflected, dodged and side-stepped away from them, never once stopping her slow pace forward. As Ginny paused for breath, the spells clearly costing her, Hermione smashed her with another draining spell, this one hitting right into her body. Ginny screamed as her energy was wrenched from her - this was an excruciating torture. Hermione had found the spell in a book from the time of The Inquisition, this was no mild charm.

Neither was the slicing hex that Hermione fired next, cutting a deep groove from Ginny's filthy mouth to her ear. Blood flashed from the wound in an astonishing torrent and Ginny clutched at it pathetically, trying to stem the flow. The move exposed her chest, and Hermione fired what was surely her last spell. She connected with Harry, scooped up all of his angst and rage and anger, powered her wand to bursting point, then let it explode. It was another blasting hex, this one so powerful it shattered several of Ginny's ribs.

Her piercing screech was so high pitched it might have obliterated all the windows in the place.

Ginny fell back, broken and beaten, crying profusely as she tried to cradle all her wounds at once. She looked up as Hermione reached her, and made one last, desperate lunge for her wand from where it had fallen from her grip.

But Hermione flicked a summoning spell at it, caught it deftly and then, with a look of pure loathing direct into Ginny's agonised eyes, snapped the wand in two.

The crowd erupted as the burst of magic from the snapped wand ignited on the platform in a shower of sparks. The cacophony of cries and cheers and stamping feet might have sounded to any passer-by like a small explosion had gone off in the place. Hermione held aloft the pieces of the wand in a token of victory, as she circled a crumpled Ginny in a lap of honour.

The next thing Hermione knew was being scooped up into a powerful embrace by Harry, who had raced the full length of the platform to clobber her in a bearhug she, herself, would have been proud of. Then her captured her mouth with his own, which drew the biggest cheer from the crowd yet. The whoops and catcalls rained down from all areas of the amassed tiers.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you? You were _brilliant..."_

Harry rattled off questions and praise at breakneck speed as a team of medics rushed to Ginny's aid. Referee Brink came up and shook Hermione's hand, before passing her off to Kingsley, who joined them on the platform.

"Not _quite_ a flawless victory, but not bad, Miss Granger," the Minister crooned. "Not bad at all!"

"Thank you, Minister," said Hermione. She looked down callously at Ginny. "Take her away whenever you can. I want my terms carried out without delay."

"I certainly shall," said Kingsley. "I will keep you informed."

Hermione nodded her thanks, before Kingsley bowed himself away.

"Come on, my little warrior princess," said Harry. "This calls for a celebratory drink!"

* * *

A few hours later and Hermione was soaking in a deep bubble bath, revelling in the aftermath of her victory. Harry was sat next to the bath, alternately applying a salve to her injured shoulder and massaging her neck, a skill he was oddly good at.

"Where did you learn _that_?" Hermione purred, as Harry unpicked a tight knot in her spine.

"I'm not the only one who can do research, you know," Harry replied cryptically. "When you first came around from the Weasley Curse, I was desperate to try and help you. I didn't have a wand, obviously, but I found a book on magical massage in the bookshop in Hogsmeade. It said that magical healing can be done through the power of touch alone.

"I was intrigued. I wasn't about to suggest a full body massage back then, or anything, but I bought the book anyway."

"Just in case?" Hermione swooned, groaning at the pleasure of the massage.

"Just in case," Harry parroted, kneading Hermione's soft flesh again. "I thought I'd try it out."

"You wont hear _this_ witch complaining," said Hermione, sultrily. "And you are _definitely_ giving me a full body massage too. You can't promise a witch something like that then not follow through."

"I look forward to it," Harry grinned. "It'll be good to learn a new skill."

"Speaking of which, it's time we discussed your future," said Hermione, bossily.

"What, beyond us getting married?" Harry quirked.

"Way beyond," said Hermione. "We will have dealt with Ron soon enough, then it will be time to focus on you and me. I can't _wait_ for that, by the way, but I have no intention of making all the money in this family, just so you know. You need to make a decision about your future, for the both of us."

"This is all very heavy," Harry moaned. "Can't I put it off for a bit?"

"No," Hermione replied sternly. "But if you can't make up your mind yet, at least agree to come back to school for the rest of the year. For _me_. At least if you finish your education you will have options."

"Will I have to be Head Boy?"

Hermione turned and looked at him blithely. "Well, you don't _have_ to be. Some other boy can just take the room across the hall and spend all day with me and carry my books..."

"Okay, okay, point taken," Harry huffed. "Can I still play Quidditch?"

"Hmm, if you must. But no Wonky Feints."

"One per game?" Harry bartered.

"Deal," Hermione conceded. "So...will you come back?"

Harry paused for dramatic effect, as if thinking hard. Truth was he'd already decided. Days ago. He was just looking for the right time to tell Hermione.

"Alright."

Hermione let out a yelp of joy, tried to pull Harry down for a kiss, then yelped out in pain as she aggravated her injured shoulder.

"Careful!" Harry admonished. "It wont heal if you keep jerking about like that."

"Well, you'll just have to keep massaging me, wont you?" Hermione chimed, quite content with the situation. "Oh...this is going to be so _great_ , Harry. You'll see...it will be just like the old days."

"Excuse me, the _old days_ were a lot of shit wrapped up in pain and misery," Harry pointed out. "I'm looking for the new days to be quite the opposite."

"They will be, Harry, they will be," Hermione promised. "We'll make sure of it."

Harry rested his head against Hermione's damp hair, kissed her tenderly, and actually believed her.


	23. A Life, After All

****

**A/N: The End. Thanks for following.**

* * *

Hermione glowered at Pius Thicknesse. She had no trust in a man who had been so easily subjugated by Dark Wizards. Harry had thrown off the Imperius Curse when he was an underage wizard. Hermione would have expected a high-ranking Ministry official - as Thicknesse had been at the outbreak of the War - to have been able to offer just as much resistance, or to have been spelled to protect his mind from attack.

The fact that he _wasn't_ simply stirred infuriation in her mind.

Of course, Harry was a badass when it came to fighting the Dark Arts. It just came naturally to him, an innate skill he didn't have to work at. Like kissing and sex. Hermione was still tingling from the night of passion they'd enjoyed after the Duel. The idea of _rest_ had vanished along with her underwear. That was a sly trick of Harry's, but a fun one. Inventive, too, but merely an indicator of Harry's natural prowess in the bedroom which, frankly, bordered on the obscene.

Hermione tried not to focus on that. It brought a bright flush to her cheeks and she was sure Harry knew what she was thinking. He grinned at her knowingly but said nothing. Her distraction wasn't helping him, either. She had to bring her mind under control. She wasn't used to it running away with itself so much. But this was just a new world and, in truth, she wasn't at all against the change.

But for now she needed to be the old Hermione. For Harry's sake if nothing else. His passions were more than capable of getting the better of him and, if the Weasleys' clock did something unexpected, there was no telling what might he might do. She needed to be on guard to protect him, maybe even from himself.

For ever since he'd taken possession of his new wand, Hermione felt slightly in awe of what had happened to Harry's power. It had begun to manifest itself in highly unusual and unexpected ways. She wondered if the bespoke wand had somehow opened him up to more naturalistic forms of magic. He _felt_ different, as if his core energy had changed frequency. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was wracked with intensity. Hermione speculated that this new sensation might merely be a result of his now being fully open to their phoenix bond. She just _sensed_ him more acutely, now that he had joined her in sharing this incredibly intimate thing.

The very idea thrilled her.

Hermione had always considered herself to be a fairly solitary creature. She had borders and boundaries that she guarded fiercely. Even at the start of her relationship with Harry, she had been cautious of letting these guards down. It wasn't as if she was worried Harry would hurt her; she was so full of trust for him, and so assured of his affection for her, that she felt overwhelmed by both. And humbled by the potency of them. But there were some deep parts of her she just felt she'd never let Harry reach.

Now, though, Hermione felt Harry had penetrated and infused every single piece of her. And the love she felt for him because of it left her breathless and light-headed.

So she was determined to protect him now with every ounce of strength she possessed. That thought pressed on her, as she looked down at the Weasley's clock, where it lay on Thicknesse's desk. His 'punishment' for possession by the Death Eaters was to be moved into the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department, where he was employed as a magic reverser. Minister Shacklebolt had instructed him to help Harry and Hermione unlock the secrets of the clock, under the veil of the most stringent secrecy.

"This item is infused with some very dark magic," said Thicknesse quietly, as he assessed it with his wand. " _Very_ dark, I say again."

Hermione looked over at Harry, whose expression was a quite clear _I told you so_. She nodded with a grimace as Thicknesse went on.

"Do you have any clue as to how this works?"

"None," said Harry. "Aside from tracking members of the Weasley family and their current well-being status, we know next to nothing about it."

"What makes you so sure of its darkness?" Hermione asked.

"It has a signature," Thicknesse explained. "When I try to interact with it, I can feel a repelling force. It's akin to reading body language, that's the closest I can describe it for you."

"And this repelling force is dark?"

"It's angry, aggressive," said Thicknesse. "Now, of course, good people get angry and aggressive, too, at times. But this clock reeks of malevolent power. Whatever is in there is so negatively charged I'm a little wary of it."

"We wont ask you to engage with it further than you are comfortable," said Hermione. "We only want to know how to access it."

"Yes," Harry added. "This is a personal matter, Mr Thicknesse. We'd rather you not be involved in the actual extraction. We just need to know how to do it."

"Homenum Revelio will allow you to detect human presence," said Thicknesse. "Hold your wand to the part of the clock you wish to access and cast the spell. It will require clarity of thought and intense concentration to drill deep into the magic held within. You will feel it repel your wand - as if they were opposing magnets. Hold it steady and when you feel it submit, draw your wand away slowly. Cast Revelio again and it should give you what you need."

"Thank you," said Harry. "Is there somewhere safe we can do this? We don't know what might be released from the clock."

"We have special warded chambers downstairs precisely for this sort of thing," said Thicknesse. "You cant begin to imagine the sorts of spells and curses some wizards put into otherwise innocuous objects."

Harry looked at him in amazement. "I destroyed Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes. I've a pretty good fucking idea how dark people can go."

Thicknesse flushed. "Quite. Let me show to the the Ward Rooms."

Harry and Hermione set off after Thicknesse as he led them into the depths of the Ministry. Harry turned to Hermione and asked in a whisper, "Hermione - what's a _ward?_ "

"In these terms? A set of defensive enchantments to create a protective barrier. We essentially warded the tent we used, when we hunted the Horcruxes. To keep any threats away from us."

"Ah," said Harry, understanding. "So we are going to open the clock in some sort of magic cage?"

"Essentially," said Hermione. "Though it's more to stop anything getting _out_ , whereas we wanted to stop anyone getting in."

Thicknesse led them to a series of chambers deep underground. They were all circular and magic seemed to hum around them like a low buzzing. Hermione felt her skin tickled by it. She led Harry into the room, and Thicknesse sealed it behind them. Harry began moving slowly around the chamber, breathing deeply as though falling into trance. Hermione couldn't be sure, but it felt as though Harry was joining with whatever magic was permeating the space.

"Harry?" she asked cautiously.

"This is weird," he replied, not looking at her. "It's like there's something else in here with us. Or maybe in the walls. I can't really tell. It's almost the same thing I felt when I saw the Veil...the night when..."

Hermione's heart was flooded with fear at the memory, the situation. It sat heavy on her.

"Come back to me, Harry," she said firmly. "Whatever this is, don't engage with it."

"It's fine," said Harry. "I can feel you worrying, but I'm in control of this. I promise."

"Harry - you're scaring me. Please, stop."

Harry blinked at her, his eyes were a little unfocused.

"Sorry," he said, taking her hands in his own. "It's just really intense in here. The magic is _dense_. I can feel it everywhere. It's viscous. I know I said it was like the Veil, but that's only how I'm sensing it. But there's no risk. Sorry, I didn't think how that would sound."

Hermione let out the tense breath she'd been holding and snaked her arms around Harry's neck. "It's okay. It's just...when you stood in front of the Veil...I'd never felt so scared in all my life. I couldn't work out why. I was just hit with the same thing. It unsettled me."

"Come on. Let's get this over with and get out of here," said Harry.

At the centre of the room was a small, circular structure, something resembling an altar. It was carved with all sorts of markings. Hermione recognised some as runes, some as alchemical symbols. There was a mandala, also. She worried the edge of the plinth as Harry carefully placed the clock on top of it. He drew his new wand.

Even from across the space between them, Hermione could feel the sweep of magical power emanating from Harry. It was joining with her, drawing her power, as the lock of her hair in his wand recognised its mistress. With a shock, she suddenly felt Harry all through her body, into her very atoms. It was beautiful, powerful, and she'd never felt so protected in all her life. It also stirred her arousal and her body responded. She wondered if Harry knew what he was doing to her, or how much more intense it would get when he did. She thought she had better start bringing a clean change of knickers with her wherever she went if this carried on.

But Harry didn't seem to realise how his innate sexual energy was making Hermione writhe and clench her thighs together opposite him. He was focused on the clock. He placed his wand to the hand which read _Ron Weasley - In Mortal Peril,_ and he cast the spell. Or tried to. The clock repelled it utterly and the wand flew from Harry's hand and hit the floor with a little tinkle.

"Hmm," Harry frowned as he recovered his wand. "That was stronger than I expected. Let me try again."

So he did. But the effect was largely the same. On the third try, Harry was using both hands to keep his wand in place, but even this wasn't enough.

"Fuck _me_ this thing is powerful," he spat bitterly. "I can _feel_ it...but I cant grab it."

"It's sealed in with Dark magic," said Hermione. "Come on, let's try together."

She rounded the altar and drew her own wand. She opened Harry's hand and placed their wands together, before closing her fingers around his. It was a bit of a mistake. Hermione was hit with such an abrupt, overpowering orgasm that her knees folded beneath her. She got up, trembling from head to toe, as Harry looked at her in open mouthed astonishment. She could only blush.

"I felt _that_!" he hushed. "What the fuck, hun?"

"Sorry," Hermione blushed. "I cant help it. There's something about that wand that has made your magic turn me to jelly. I don't know if I'm just connecting to your emotions, and your lust is so intense it's overpowering, or what. I'm really sorry."

"Please, please don't be," Harry smirked. "That's just the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen. I'm a bit in shock, in the utterly best sort of way. That was hotter than the actual sun."

Hermione flushed from her chest to the roots of her hair.

"Right...are you able to try again?" asked Harry.

Hermione huffed at him. "I'm sure I can restrain myself. You're not that irresistible."

Harry chortled. "Evidence suggests the contrary."

"Okay, maybe you are," said Hermione, grinning at him. "But I'm sure I can hold it in."

Harry looked at her curiously. "Actually...maybe _don't._ " She quizzed an eyebrow at him. "That emotion was ridiculously intense. Maybe we can harness it, overpower whatever darkness is in this thing with something pure."

"Harry...I'm not sure what I was thinking was all that pure," said Hermione. "Besides, I don't think I like the idea of using an orgasm to break a dark spell. Sex magic is pretty borderline grey in itself."

"We'll do it together," said Harry. "The emotional power of the spell would surely be enough to break through the barriers on the clock."

"You know, when you set your mind to something, you make _my_ legendary stubbornness seem like a mild bit of petulance. Alright...we'll try it your way."

"That worked well enough last night," Harry teased, drawing her close.

Hermione wasn't sure she could blush any deeper than she was now. She allowed Harry to pull her flush to his body, into this magical field of energy she was now becoming intimately familiar with. Allowed maybe wasn't the right word. She went willingly, wantonly. In truth, she'd be happy never to _leave_ it. It was the most wonderful sensation she'd ever known, the most beautiful place she could imagine, and the intensity wasn't dropping.

Then Harry said something bizarre. "Let me in."

"What?"

"Let me in," he repeated.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, breathlessly. Arousal was pooling fiercely in her belly, sweeping downwards fast. Her knees felt unsteady already.

"It's hard to explain, but it's like there's a shield around you," said Harry. "I've never felt it before. Maybe it's this room. I don't want to spook you by pushing through it, but you can let me in. You trust me, don't you? You have to know by now how much I love you. You're safe with me. I'd never hurt you. Ever."

Hermione suddenly felt it herself, as though Harry had stepped close to her very soul. She shivered, a lingering fear washing over her. This was it. The final barrier to being Harry's completely...and he, hers, as a result. She knew it unquestionably. Once this barrier was down she was utterly exposed to him. There was no going back.

And she hesitated.

Just for a moment, but Harry felt it. With a crack of _utte_ r despair. And then _Hermione_ felt it bounce right back at her. It was like a hammer punch right to the heart. It took her breath away and in that moment Harry recoiled just briefly. Hermione felt him go with a snap of loss so acute that she cried out at the anguish surging through her. It was pure agony. Her response was reflexive. She snatched her arms tight around Harry, drew him so close she might have been trying to fuse with him.

"Don't go...please...don't go...not ever."

And with a shuddering breath, embracing this thing she'd yearned for as long as she could remember, she let her final barrier fall.

If the surge of loss, at Harry's brief doubt, was intense, then his sense of euphoric relief as Hermione gave in to him was positively overwhelming. She pushed everything she had to him, everything she was. And the effect was so profound it reduced Harry to tears. He shook against her, his moist cheeks pressing firm against her own. He felt her, all through him. She knew it, because she felt the total mirror of his emotions. They had ceased to be separate. They were one. Mind, body and soul. Utterly entwined, unbreakable.

Hermione took control. She pressed into Harry, moving suggestively, thinking all things erotic all at once. He heard her in his head, he responded in kind. She felt him grow against her thigh, sending her mind into a hot frenzy. They ground together until suddenly he gripped tight around her, a throaty groan escaped his lips and he spilled out between them. Hermione felt its damp warmth with searing senselessness. It sent her over the edge, and she orgasmed hard in shuddering, ragged breaths. They collapsed against each other and the altar, spent and ecstatic. Somehow, amazingly, Hermione found the presence of mind to point their still joined wands to the clock. Harry looked at her, understanding the intent.

"Homenum Revelio!" they whispered together.

The clock was powerless to resist their joint command. What happened next was a mood killer if ever there was one. The clock hand with Ron's name shattered with a piercing scream. Hermione disengaged herself from Harry and turned in horror as a shadowy torso extricated itself from the clock face. It pulled itself free and stood before them, smoky as a ghost. A ghost with freckles.

"Oh my God, to be free!" said the ghost. "I'm so stiff! How long was I trapped in there?"

"Who are you?" asked Harry, cleaning himself with a subtle flick of his wand. "And how were you trapped in the clock?"

"I'm Gerald Prewett," said the ghost. "I'm a second cousin of Molly Weasley."

"You're the accountant!" Harry cried in amazement, remembering suddenly. "Ron mentioned you."

"I was a Squib, a shame to the family," said Gerald. "I'm surprised they talked about me at all."

"How did you end up dead?" asked Hermione. "And in the clock?"

The ghost grimaced. "I was sacrificed by my wonderful cousins. They needed to trap a soul in the clock to monitor the family member assigned to it. They tricked me. Said they'd found something in the grimoire archives that could activate my magic."

"Grimoire?" Harry queried to Hermione.

"A sort of family-specific spell book," Hermione explained. "It's probably where Ginny learned the curse she used on me, if the Weasley's even have one..."

"Ginevra! Don't mention that witch to me," said Gerald. "I saw all the blood rituals and forced sex magic used to create that Dark wench. Do you have any idea how many levels of sacrifice were required to break the _No Weasley Daughter_ curse? It's a horrific saga of crimes. They were cursed for a good reason. Weasley wombs have spawned nothing but darkness for centuries."

"They were _cursed_ not to have daughters?" asked Hermione, shocked. She looked at Harry. He had gone pale with the revelations. "Why?"

"I never knew fully, but my decent relatives all insisted it was justified," said Gerald. "That was enough for me to accept. But now, why have you freed me?"

"Ginny has wronged us," said Harry. "She attacked Hermione, here...my future wife. Nearly killed her with a Weasley Family Curse. We have wrought vengeance on her, but her brother Ron eludes us still."

"We want to find him, see if he can be persuaded to do the honourable thing," said Hermione.

"Though he has shown a distinct lack of honour," said Harry. "So we owe him a reckoning for that alone."

"But we don't know where he is," Hermione filled in. "He's hiding from us. We broke the enchantment on the clock to reveal his location. Frankly, I'm in shock that _this_ is how it all works."

"We assume you know where he is, to monitor him," said Harry. "We need your help, Mr Prewett. But, let me be blunt - we will force it from you if we have to."

Hermione loved Harry taking charge like this. He was so unbearably sexy when he did so.

"I will help you, in exchange for my freedom," said Gerald calmly. "Release me from my prison and I will lead you to Ron. My _family_ wronged me. I owe them no loyalty."

"I'll agree to you terms if you agree to not leave us until we have Ron secured," said Harry. "He can escape us, hide from us. But not from you. When we are satisfied with our work with him, I promise to free you."

Gerald looked at Harry, sizing him up, weighing his trust. "Very well. I accept your terms. When do we leave?"

"As a clock might say, 'there's no time like the present'," Harry replied cheerfully.

"Harry!" Hermione interrupted suddenly. "Before we go, there's something I've thought of."

"Another brilliant brainwave from the brightest witch in my life," said Harry, grinning at her. "What is it?"

"Harry, we are near the Department of Mysteries," said Hermione. "As family magic is unique and obscure, I bet they study or record it here."

"More than likely," Harry agreed. "But I don't want to know more about the Weasleys magic. To be frank, it's making me a little nauseous."

"I'm not talking about _Weasley_ magic," said Hermione, excitedly. "But what about _Potter_ magic? What if there was some spell, some enchantment, we could use against Ron? Something that might negate whatever spells Molly might have taught him? I have to think Potter magic would be more potent than any hocus pocus the Weasleys could conjure."

Harry smiled broadly at her. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a look, as we're here. Lead the way."

Harry paused in front of the section door and took a breath. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was trespassing. About to pass onto forbidden land. His throat shuddered at the thought. The statue guard at the entrance to the Family Registry section had accepted his name on request. There had been no obstacles, no challenge. Not even to _Hermione,_ who had been granted access as a Potter as easily as Harry had. That had brought _their_ reality home to Harry in the most earth-shattering of ways.

And he was _utterly_ in love with that.

The vault had accepted Hermione as the future Mrs Potter or, as she'd teased, the future _Lady_ Potter. Harry was the last of his house, which was an Ancient and Noble one, like Sirius and the Black Family, as Harry remembered. So, in theory, he should have a seat in the Wizengamot. Wizard Government. Harry had paled at this idea.

What did _he_ know about politics? Absolutely nothing. He'd be shite at the job, he was sure of that. But Hermione allayed his fears at a stroke. She would simply have to sit for him, for _their_ family. She was cleverer, it made sense. This had suddenly made their union, their impending marriage, all of it, so tangibly real for Harry that he lost the ability to speak for fully ten minutes as he tried to process it all.

It took the floor from beneath him. It was a total surprise. But, suddenly, he had a _future_. One to actually be enthused about, not to be feared. Hermione had even teased that he could raise the kids while she went out and did all the work. The promise of little Sophie reared its head again and they both swooned over the vision of their daughter. Harry had never wanted to do a dance of joy, but the urge was potent just now.

So, as they stood before the Potter Family archive, Harry felt his skin prickle with immense excitement. Hermione was holding his hand, his equal and partner. His wife-to-be. He'd never accepted that as so real as he did now. He wanted to fall on his knees and bow to her, as his Lady, thankful that they'd found each other in this way, despite everything. Fate had finally delivered for Harry. He'd done enough, suffered and sacrificed enough. And he'd been rewarded with a love, with a witch so perfect it was far beyond even what those experiences might have warranted.

He'd never felt so utterly blessed as he did in those moments he stood looking at Hermione right then. She glanced over at him, fixing him with a curious stare.

"What is it?"

"I couldn't even tell you properly," said Harry. "I don't have the vocabulary to do it justice. I'll never deserve you, just know that. But I intend to spend the rest of my life doing my best to justify _this_."

He gesticulated between them.

"And I wont hold it against you when you come to your senses and leave me."

Hermione huffed. "Will you grow a pair? I'm the lucky one, to have gotten a second chance at you. But I get the feeling we will never agree. So lets just revel in it, lord it over all those unfortunate people who will never know what we have, and engage in so much animalistic sex that we are too exhausted to be soppy."

Harry laughed out loud. "There's my girl. That's a scheme and a half! I delegate all future scheme-making to you."

"Sweetheart, let's be honest, I was _always_ going to make all the schemes and plans in this relationship! You are all sorts of good...but planning isn't your strong suit!"

"I submit," said Harry, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Now...shall we?"

Hermione looked dubiously at the Potter Family crest on the door, and the hand-print verification stone standing just in front of it. "Can I try? Just to see?"

"I was hoping you would," said Harry. "I know you _say_ you love me, but let's check for sure."

Harry mock winced as Hermione poked his ribs. In truth, it was more of a laugh. Harry had never told her, but he was _very_ ticklish. He hoped she never found out. She might use it to torture him.

"This door might not have been opened in a long time," Hermione went on. "This might not work. I'm not sure..."

Harry stepped up and cradled her head in both his hands. "Are you going to marry me, or not?"

"Of course I am."

"And be the Mrs, Lady, Queen Potter?"

"And be fucking proud of and awesome at it," said Hermione firmly.

"Then there we go," said Harry. "This vault is as much yours as it is mine. We are _family_ now. Or we will be. This vault is _ours_. Fuck me... I _love_ saying that. I'll never get tired of it."

Hermione beamed and kissed him deeply. "When did our language get so bad?"

"When we learned there were only certain ways we could talk about the Weasleys?" Harry offered. Hermione laughed at that. "Come on, lets find a way to _Potter_ them to defeat."

Hermione nodded and stepped forwards. She placed a hand on the stone. Despite Harry's assurance, she was still shaking. She needn't have worried. The stone door melted away and a vast vault opened ahead of them. Shelves upon shelves stretched to the ceiling, groaning under the weight of innumerable parchment scrolls. The rack disappeared into misty darkness way beyond sight.

"Fuck me," Hermione whispered in awe.

"Maybe later," Harry smirked. "If you're a good girl.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. "And if I'm bad?"

"I'll spank you. And it'll be naughty as sin. You'll love it. A night of attention to that stunning arse of yours. Whatever depravity you desire."

"Fuck dot me, at fuck me dot com, forward slash, fuck me sideways!" Hermione exclaimed dreamily. "We are _so_ revisiting that idea!"

Harry doubled up laughing, then led the way into his family vault hoping his mother hadn't been eavesdropping on that particular exchange.

The Potter Vault was seriously huge. It catalogued all the Potters who had had ever lived. Harry saw that the branches off to one side of the room led to the family names of Dumbledore, Gryffindor and Peverell. That was too much to take in for one visit. Harry could only gawp, staring around with no idea where to start.

Not for nothing was Hermione the brightest witch of the age. She strode confidently to the first aisle and pulled out the biggest book Harry had ever seen. It was the kind of spell book depicted in fairy tales. It was so big Hermione needed to use both hands to open the cover. It clattered to the table it was sat on, sending a cloud of dust soaring into the air. Hermione coughed at it, but was soon thumbing through its massive pages.

"What is this?" Harry asked, coming up next to her.

"The standard book of Potter spells," said Hermione with a light smirk.

"What are you looking for?"

"English would be useful," said Hermione sardonically. "Unless you speak old Welsh. Seriously, Harry, I think we should look into the possibility that you were related to King Arthur. His roots were in Wales. You have an innate love for the country. Gryffindor was definitely Welsh, it follows the lineage."

"How do you know about Gryffindor?"

Hermione scoffed at him. "The double ff's didn't give it away? That's _one letter_ in Welsh, Harry. But it's more obvious than that. You never did _actually_ open _Hogwarts: A History_ , did you?"

Harry smirked. "Nope. Fancy lending me yours? You must be done with it by now."

"What? And have you see the hundred and twelve times I wrote _HG_ _lvs HP_ in little hearts in the margins? Not a chance."

Harry chuckled again. "You're so cute I could eat you."

Hermione looked sultrily at him. "I'll hold you to that later."

"Please do," Harry purred back.

"Right. Let's get on," said Hermione, who had flushed crimson. "What we need is a defensive spell. Ron will attack, there's little doubt about that. What would be ideal is a spell that would deflect whatever he throws at us."

As if it obeyed her command, the book's pages suddenly fluttered open until they rested on a page. A single paragraph flashed up florescent gold, as if highlighted. Harry stared at Hermione in awestruck reverence.

"Lady Potter, indeed."

Hermione grinned back, then turned to the Grimoire page.

"The Potter Shield Wall," she read. "Will repel any harmful spells below Unforgivable Level. Requires Bonded Union for total effectiveness, but useful for general deflection."

Harry peered over Hermione's shoulder. Then he felt his breath catch as his heart paused its beating. "Hermione...do you think...my mum...she might have..."

Hermione shot her eyes to him, such sorrow and pity flooding him that Harry felt impelled to look away.

"Oh, _Harry,"_ she whispered sadly. "She might have tried...but -"

"Not effective below Unforgivable Level," Harry whispered, cold horror engulfing him.

"But your Dad...he might have...to buy your Mum time...for the sacrifice charm."

Harry stopped breathing. He'd forgotten how. He clutched his chest and stumbled against the table. Hermione leapt over to hold him up. Tears came hard and he fell to his knees. Hermione went with him, clutching him as his body was wracked with sobs.

"I...I'm going to le-learn necromancy," Harry stuttered. "I'm going to b-bring Tom Riddle back...then kill the cunt properly!"

"Don't learn necromancy, Harry," said Hermione gently. "That would make you a Weasley. And at this point I'm not sure if that's worse than being a Riddle."

Harry laughed at that. He dried his eyes. "A Riddle, wrapped in an enigma, in bed with a Weasley. Urgh...imagine _that_. Merlin's big hairy balls!"

Hermione actually fell on her back laughing. She sat back up after a minute and straightened herself out. "Come on, let's learn this spell."

Again, as if she'd commanded it, a set of ancient runes shot up from the pages of the Grimoire and settled into Hermione's wand. Harry just looked at her, startled and in wonder.

"If I forget to say it today, I fucking _love_ you. Absolutely fucking love you!"

Hermione smiled at him. "I love you, too. Come on, let's go and give Ron a bad day."

The ghost of Gerald Prewett pointed out across the field. Harry looked on in disbelief, as if he'd never have accepted the sight if he hadn't laid his own eyes upon it. Hermione wasn't a million miles away from Harry's reaction herself. She just stared as they walked, picking their way over the rutted ground. It was quite pathetic, really.

The tent. That _fucking_ tent. Hermione had hoped to never see it again. But there it was. Shit coloured and just as filthy. When the fuck had Ron gone and recovered _that?_ What a cheap prick! He couldn't come up with his own ideas of places to hide. Hermione had never felt so sorry for herself as she did just then. To think...she'd been in a _relationship_ with this excuse of a wizard. She had kissed him and more. She'd introduced him to her parents! Oh, the shame of it! And to think, she'd given Harry a hard time over Ginny! She had no recourse to chide him over that. She was just as disgraced in her previous partner choices.

And she _actually_ vomited at the thought.

Harry came up to comfort her. "Are you okay? It's going to be fine, don't fret."

"It's not that," said Hermione, wiping her mouth. "It's pure self-loathing. I need you to fuck it out of me later."

Harry grinned. "Absolute deal. No come backs."

"Oh I intend to _come back,_ " said Hermione. "As soon as I get you off, by way of apology, you are _absolutely_ going to see to it that I _come back_. I will break you to make sure it happens, if I have to!"

"Merlin...your mouth," said Harry breathily. "What the actual fuck? I love it."

Hermione stood up and cleaned herself with a spell. She took a steadying breath. "No games, Harry. No playing with our food. We take care of Ron, today, then we are done with Weasleys. Forever. Agreed?"

"Works for me," said Harry.

"Good," Hermione replied. She turned to the ghost. "Wait here, please."

"As you wish," Gerald replied.

Hermione strode forward purposefully. She wasn't sure why, but she was energised for vengeance. Visions of Ron kissing that blonde piece in _The Prophet_ dominated her mind, as well as all the times he'd put her down, made her cry. Not to mention all the things he'd done to keep Harry away from her. She was so furiously mad she thought she might set Ron on fire by mere thought.

Then she saw him. Striding out of the tent like nobody's business. Her mind flew back in time, to _that_ night. The way he strode from the Horcrux hunt.

" _I get it. You choose him"_

The words flashed through Hermione's mind. They were, she accepted, six of the truest words ever spoken to her. She had known it then, but not let it into her conscious mind. She had been one silly bitch for resisting that truth. Of course she'd chosen Harry. She _chosen_ him when she was just twelve years old! She'd just never had the courage to invite him to join her, to position herself as _his_ choice. It rankled ugly with her that it was a choice Harry would have taken earlier had he known it was available. Damn her coyness! Hermione wanted to scream, to rage, at herself and at Ron, for all the missed time she might have had with Harry.

They'd agreed not to regret. But they _hadn't_ agreed not to be utterly furious about it.

"Ronald Weasley! You fucking, fucking, _fucking_ ginger _cunt_!"

Ron span around as he heard his name called. He looked stunned, dropped the kettle he'd been holding and made a movement for his wand, as Hermione reached him and squared up to his face.

"Hermione! How did you find me!?"

"We used magic as dark and ugly as you!" Hermione fumed. She was shaking with fury.

"We?" asked Ron, warily. "Oh...I should've known. The Boy Who Lived."

Hermione spat. Right in Ron's face. "Don't you _ever_ call him that," she hissed dangerously.

Ron wiped the spittle from his forehead. "It's his calling card, isn't it?"

"Like he _wants_ to be reminded every day that he survived...while his parents were killed," said Hermione angrily. She was boiling over. "Just shows how little you ever knew him...how dreadful an excuse for a _friend_ you truly were."

"Well, as you're making his days better...by sucking his cock," said Ron through gritted teeth, "how about we give him a new name. _Mudblood Fucker_ has a nice ring to it."

Hermione gasped. Despite her rage, even she was shocked by Ron's words. For his part, he quelled, perhaps knowing he'd crossed a line of no return.

"And to think," said Hermione, gulping and speaking quietly. "That all we came here for was to see if you'd show a bit of honour and protect your mother's future. We would have spared you -"

But Hermione didn't get to finish her sentence.

For Ron had backhanded her right across the face.

Hermione _felt_ as much as she heard Harry's roar of anger from across the field. It was guttural, feral...it vibrated with ferocity in Hermione's own chest. It scared her a little. She saw all colour drain from Ron's face for a moment, as the sound penetrated him, too. He looked down at Hermione, who had crumpled in surprise at being hit so violently. Then Ron drew his wand.

The Battle of The Golden Trio had begun.

Harry was there so fast that Hermione was taken aback. And the look on his face...it was positively murderous. She almost didn't want to look at it...the man she loved so powerfully surely couldn't wield such a terrifying look. Ron fired off a couple of Stunners and an Impediment jinx in quick, quite impressive fashion, even Hermione had to admit that. His Auror induction training had wrought a significant improvement in him, without doubt.

But Hermione was worried for only about half a heartbeat.

For Harry deflected all of Ron's spells with the merest flick of his wand. Where had he learned to do _this?_ Hermione had no idea, but Harry was so _angry_ he might as well have been a natural disaster crossing the grass, impervious to whatever Ron might have in his arsenal. Hermione had never seen the like. She trembled in fear... _for Ron_. The lingering care she had for him made her genuinely afraid of Harry's intent. But it was so potent...it was borderline unstoppable. _Harry_ was unstoppable. Hermione was powerless to deter Harry from his course. He was advancing on Ron, batting his spells away as though Ron were throwing grains of rice at him. Ron knew it too. His voice had taken on a wobble, his spells failing as his stuttered incantations robbed them of power.

Harry's defensive spells had all been cast silently...and he hadn't attacked yet. His fury was swirling like a storm, building with a potency that Hermione genuinely feared. It was like being in the path of a hurricane...and Ron was powerless to get out of the way. The fruitless spell casting was draining him, robbing him of any potential defence. As Harry got closer, Ron's spell strength was falling. What would Harry do when he reached him? Abandon magic? Throttle Ron with his bare hands? Hermione yelped at the prospect. She didn't want it to end like _this_.

Then Ron changed tack. In his desperation...he turned his wand on _her._ It was the worst mistake any wizard could have made.

And, finally, it drove Harry to attack _back._

He fired a blasting curse at Ron so powerful that it cut though his robes and took a huge chunk from his hip. Ron screamed with the pain. It echoed around the field and Hermione screeched herself, tears pouring at the sound. But Ron was reacting. He fired a stream of fire at Harry so hot that Hermione, a good ten feet away, reared back from the intensity. She cried out in concern.

But Harry was already gone. He had Apparated to a point on Ron's left side. Ron, dumb and thinking he'd gotten an advantage, went to nurse his hip wound. But Harry was very far from done. He cast a reductor curse at Ron that was so strong Hermione felt the after shock-wave ripple over her as it passed by. Ron let out a cry of agony that came from right within his soul. Even Hermione felt his sickening scream as if it were her own.

It was hardly surprising. Harry had just smashed his knee caps to dust.

Ron collapsed to the grass, crying out in disgusting pain. Harry advanced slowly on him, lowering his wand.

So Ron raised his, one last time.

The Weasley spell erupted from his wand in a blast of blood orange light. Harry was too close...he wouldn't be able to react...

So Hermione did.

A giant, shining silver and red shield materialised in front of Harry, deflecting the spell with a very satisfying gong. Ron looked over at her, aghast.

"Th-that...it had the _Potter crest_ ," he forced out in pained breaths. "How did you..."

Hermione stood up, proud and utterly emboldened. She'd never felt so powerful in her whole life. She advanced on Ron with her wand drawn. "Yes, you dumb prick, it _did_. Because I _am_ a Potter...in everything but name. I am _Mrs Hermione Potter._ Lady Potter, to you. Or I very soon will be. And that's just a niggling matter of time. The Potter magic is _my_ magic now. _Relashio!"_

Ron dropped his wand as Hermione's spell hit him. He groped for it.

"Leave it, Ron," said Harry dangerously, emerging from behind the shield. His magic was pulsing furiously.

Ron didn't listen. He grabbed for his wand again.

" _Diffindo!"_

Harry cast the Severing Charm with such loathing intent that it sliced Ron's wand hand clean off at the wrist. He screamed again, then fell back and clutched at his stump. The blood was something to behold. Harry moved forwards and cast a basic healing charm he remembered from Hermione. It stopped the bleeding. He looked down at Ron. He was trembling, shuddering and utterly beaten. He was shaking with so much fear his clothes were visibly vibrating.

"You'll never hit a woman again," said Harry threateningly. Ron whimpered under Harry's cold, unflinching gaze. "Neither will you plant your _seed_ in a woman, either."

And Harry felt _zero_ remorse. He gave, literally, zero fucks about his oldest friend, as he cast an infertility curse upon him.

Harry looked down at Ron. It wasn't even anger he felt in that moment. It had a depth of loathing Hermione couldn't even put a name to. She held her breath as Harry took his wand to Ron's temple. She was sure he was going to kill him, but she had lost her ability to reason with him.

Harry shook his head at Ron, as he yanked his dank hair back. He looked at him, deep and fierce, right into his eyes. Like he was boring his gaze directly into him.

"I don't know who you are," he said lowly. He took another rough fist of Ron's hair and jerked his head to one side. "I want you to know...the promise I made to your father, about taking financial care of your mother...I renege on that promise, on account of your striking my future wife. I'm sure you can explain it to him. Now...for _my_ revenge on _you_..."

Then he sliced his wand purposefully three times against Ron's forehead. Ron shrieked out in blood-stopping agony with each flick Harry made. When he was done, Ron had a perfect, lightening-shaped cut deep into the flesh right above his right eye. Harry looked at him with such pure hatred Hermione almost expected Ron to die on the spot.

Harry cocked his head to assess his handiwork. "Just like you always wanted," he said, so dangerously that Hermione shuddered at the tone. She would tell him later... no, _order him..._ to never use that tone in her presence again. It genuinely frightened her.

But she had her own thing to say to Ron.

Hermione stepped forward and knelt at Ron's fallen form. Then she was hit with a gut-turning sickness. For Ron had both pissed and shit himself under Harry's 'care'. The dual aroma was vile. Harry had stepped back from the stench, his work done. But he kept his wand firmly pointed at Ron's heart. Hermione felt its intent, as it trembled in Harry's angry fingers next to her. Even if Ron had been before her - with both knees and both hands intact - he wouldn't have been able to move against Harry's innate, impenetrable protection of Hermione.

And she breathed calmly in the safety she felt. And a callous anger for the Weasleys stirred within her. When she spoke, she was easily Harry's cold, dangerous equal.

"Take a message to that slut sister of yours," Hermione hissed. "She'd better keep her pretty little face out of our business. Because, if she rears her fucking ugly head - and I hear about it - I'm going to cut it off. You tell her that...a promise from Lady Hermione Potter. You know I'm good for my word."

Harry guffawed next to her. He offered her a hand and she took it.

"Are we done, my Lady?" Harry asked.

"Almost," said Hermione. "Cast the Infertility Charm."

Harry looked coldly at Ron. Then he flicked his wand, incanting in silence. Ron whined as the pain hit his groin. Harry nodded at Hermione, confirming that all was done.

Then they left Ron Weasley for the last time.

* * *

The snow was falling again, as Harry approached the village church and the little graveyard behind. It was really quite pretty. Especially against all the tinsel and other Christmas lights. The party goers were mostly drunk by now and the atmosphere was positively amazing. There was mistletoe everywhere and more kissing than was decent.

Harry laughed at the sight. He thought he'd never quite enjoyed a Christmas properly. So he was going to revel in this one. He had a beer in his hand. A real one. He'd long decided that any beer with butter in was simply a waste of his digestinal tract. Beer was for getting smashed, and maybe getting lucky with a sexy witch.

Speaking of which...

Poor Hermione. She was a proper trooper. The journalists were a persistent bunch of twats. Harry watched Hermione fielding questions like a seasoned pro. He sighed sadly as he thought...she might as well have been by now. She wouldn't let the press write anything that painted him, or her, or _them_ , in a bad light. Harry still had to pinch himself that there was a _them_ to be writing about. It made him shake his head in wonder, especially if Hermione was still in within his eyeline.

For she hadn't left him yet. It had been nearly four months. Harry had a mental chart going. He thought Hermione might be quite proud of him for that. She liked that sort of thing. Four months, and she was still with him. Despite the constant media attention, the requests for interviews, the setting up of both as fashion icons. Harry found it immensely trying. He imagined she must have too.

But Hermione seemed to be dealing with it quite cheerfully. She was eloquent and articulate and never dropped an off word. Harry was astounded by her skill with the reporters. It made him love her more. It was a trend. Every time he thought he _couldn't_ love her more, she did something that made him do just that. He didn't resent her proving him wrong. In fact, he looked forward to those moments when she astounded him again. It made him fundamentally proud of himself that this amazing girl was _his_ witch.

And his alone.

And he couldn't stop _looking_ at her. She was so pretty that he could hardly stand to hold her gaze sometimes. It was like looking at the divine. Or the forbidden. Harry hadn't decided which just yet. But she never seemed to accept it. It was a challenge to change her mind on that, one Harry accepted willingly. He wondered if he could _sex_ the doubt out of her. That part of their relationship was, frankly, mind blowing. And so frequent that Harry was slightly worried that the friction might make his private parts glow in the dark.

But, despite Hermione's media skill, she was only human. Harry had left her long enough, answering questions about the horrifying Magic-Muggle conspiracy - which was lately exposed - and Arthur Weasley's imprisonment as its highest-level wizard collaborator. She could only offer the standard excuses to her own ignorance, despite well-known connections to the family. It was a topic that roused Harry to her fierce defence.

"I believe she said she doesn't know," said Harry, coming up and deflecting the repeated question onto himself. "You don't want to ask the same thing again, do you?"

Harry had learned to _lace_ his tone with threat. After the fight with Ron, he had been told explicitly by Hermione to reign his anger in. It had scared her. The very concept of ' _Hermione afraid'_ was enough to teach Harry control over his own emotions.

"Oh, not at all, Mr Potter," said the journalist warily. "So...er...no comment on the ongoing stand-off with the Muggles?"

"Of course not," said Hermione. "Harry and I are focused only on our studies. We wish to complete our final Hogwarts year with as little disruption as possible. It would represent a pleasant change!"

The assembled journalists laughed. "So, how _do_ the Head Boy and Girl find time to relax?" asked one.

Harry grinned at Hermione. "I find _time_ by putting away my Time-Turner, funnily enough. Once I've revisited my missed lessons, I drag my ever-suffering fiancee to some random event or another...you're all just lucky I coaxed her to Godric's Hollow tonight for this Christmas Party!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly _dragged_ ," Hermione teased. "It's not every day that a village is reclaimed as totally magical. There are certainly worse ways to spend Christmas Eve."

"Do you intend to move back here, Mr Potter?"

Harry shifted and took a breath. He and Hermione had discussed it, but never come to a decision. Hermione stepped up again.

"It's really up to Harry's parents," she said, elusively. "Speaking of which...please excuse us."

With that she took his arm, and guided him through the kissing gate and into the cemetery. They disappeared among the headstones.

"Good out," said Harry, impressed.

"It's a morbid one," said Hermione. "But we have a tradition to uphold."

"We do?"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione had taken his hand and pulled him to a stop. Harry looked down and lost his heartbeat in his chest. The graves of his parents loomed quiet before him. He thought of all the ways he should have been announcing his engagement to them, showing off his beautiful bride-to-be. This wasn't how it should have been.

Fucking Voldemort. He seriously was, the _biggest_ arsehole ever.

Hermione was on the same page. She knelt down, arced her wand and conjured a beautiful Christmas wreath, which she propped against the headstones. Harry felt his breath catch at the sight...the memory.

"It's been...a whole _year_ ," he breathed. "It hardly seems that long. But somehow _longer_."

Hermione stood. She eased into Harry's body, her back against his chest. He kissed her head and thread his arms around her waist, to where they belonged, as her hands covered his own. He swayed her slightly. The snow was beginning to fall again.

"I should have kissed you...when we were stood here a year ago," said Harry ruefully. "I wanted to. And you deserved it."

Hermione laughed. "I'd done my time, for sure. But in front of your parents?"

"I'd have done _lots_ more, with a lot more nudity, if I'd known I'd be this deliriously happy with you," Harry whispered, nuzzling her head. "I'm so astonishingly lucky. It's nonsense, really."

Hermione cooed at him. "You'd have done _more_? Even in the snow?"

"I'd have set it on fire!"

"Harry! Your parents."

"Were probably randy fuckers," said Harry. Hermione shook with laughter. "I bet they are hoping we have a bit of fumble, just for a laugh. But, _Fuck you, Dad! It's too cold for a hard-on!"_

Hermione was in a veritable seizure. Harry joined her, feeling hot laughing tears freeze on his cheek, as he hugged Hermione as tightly as his arms would allow.

"I wish we could have met them...together," said Hermione. "Do you think they would have liked me? Am I good enough for their only boy?"

Harry cuddled her close. "You're _too_ good. They might have had you tested for latent insanity!"

"You do make me insane," Hermione mused. "But in a good way."

"Hermione! My parents!" Harry mock admonished.

"Were randy fuckers. That's where you get it from."

"I don't see you complaining."

"No, I'm a lucky witch," Hermione agreed. "A lucky _as fuck_ witch."

Harry sighed. He huffed, too. He could never hug Hermione close _enough._ It really annoyed him. He would have to show his love in deeds to make up the shortfall.

"By the way, I intend to be the greatest Dad in history. Just so you know. We are going to have the _best_ kids."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "What will you swear it on?"

Harry kissed her head. "My parents graves."

Hermione gasped. "One generation of Lord and Lady Potter to another?"

"That's assuming I'm still going to marry you," said Harry lightly. "You still refuse to set a date. I have options, you know."

Hermione huffed at him. "How will those options dwindle if I cast the Castration Hex on you?"

"A lot of witches like money," said Harry. "I have some."

"Ah, but you also gave me unlimited access to your Gringotts vault," said Hermione smoothly. "I could bankrupt you. Where does that leave the Chosen One?"

"With my balls in a Hermione Granger-shaped vice," said Harry. He frowned at his father's headstone. "Seriously, Dad...fuck you. For setting a precedent of falling head-over-heels for Muggle-born super witches. Beautiful, brilliant ones at that. My son will curse me for it."

Hermione giggled, pacified. "Okay, you're forgiven, Potter. _Only_ because I've seen us having two _daughters_. If we're to have a son, too, you'd better prove good enough to be worth so much child birth pain."

Harry couldn't hold his head straight enough to argue, even in light-hearted banter. These images of his totally ideal future just reduced him to a helpless, wildly euphoric state. It made his magic surge from him uncontrollably. Hermione knew it, too. She let it envelope her, coat her in utter bliss. She would never tire of this. Harry had learned to control and channel it, bit it still left her utterly breathless. She'd never believed she could be so completely and wholly _loved,_ or that she would be able to _feel_ it in her very fibres, the way Harry had learned to show her. She never felt worthy of it, but if she ever thought that in his presence, his love surged so powerfully it stunned her, as if trying to make up for her doubt. It practically drowned her with its ferocity.

How was she supposed to respond to _that_?

Harry never asked, never demanded. He only gave of himself. And Hermione felt selfish for accepting something so raw and pure and powerful directed at her, as it was. Sometimes, she would wake to find Harry just watching her as she slept. She blushed at how content and happy he looked when she caught him at it. It wasn't right, in her mind, that she, plain and ordinary _Hermione Jane Granger,_ could do that to Harry Potter. But she _could_. And she marvelled at it, even if she'd never fully understand or accept this immense ability she possessed, to make the wizard she loved so happy...simply by being there with him, sharing their incredible love.

It was almost enough to warp Hermione's mind. But she had to stay in the moment...

Harry hugged Hermione as she gave a contented little trill.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Hermione smiled. Harry felt it more than he saw it. "I think you should buy me an ice cream. Maybe a glass of mulled wine."

"Anything you like, Miss Granger," said Harry, grinning.

Hermione sighed. It was a steeling breath. "How about a Christmas promise, Harry?"

"Anything."

"Okay. How about...this time next year...we stand here and greet Mr and Mrs Potter... _as_ Mr and Mrs Potter...what do you say?"

Harry choked back a sob, but the tears beat him to the punch.

"I do, Hermione," he wept, holding her impossibly close. "I so utterly _do_."

_The End_


End file.
